


Graffiti on the Wall

by Galeanthrope



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Play, Anal Sex, Art, Because that movie is the worst thing ever, Body Dysphoria, Child Death, Graffiti, Homelessness, Light BDSM, Multi, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Oral Sex, Rimming, Running, Shameless Smut, Suicidal Thoughts, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-28
Updated: 2016-12-06
Packaged: 2018-02-06 15:31:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 116,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1863012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galeanthrope/pseuds/Galeanthrope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Steve sees her, they literally run into each other. </p>
<p>Or, how Steve finds his way back to being human.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first fanfic, so be gentle! That being said, I would really love some feedback. Thanks for reading!

The first time he sees her, they literally run into each other. It is a particularly bad night, and the nightmares are the ones about Bucky that mean he won't be able to get back to sleep. He's been searching, doing all he can, but they've run through all their leads and now all he can do is wait for something to turn up. So even though it's four in the morning (and thus a little early even for Steve, whose body doesn't need all that much rest anymore), he goes for his morning run. 

It is because he is lost in thought that he doesn't hear her coming. Upon reflection he realizes that he normally would have heard her footsteps, her breathing, any number of things, with his heightened senses, that would have prevented things from ever starting; he is honestly a little ashamed to be caught so wrong-footed. 

So the first hint that there is another person in his vicinity is when a person, face covered by a hooded sweatshirt, comes crashing into Steve from the side. His reflexes take care of the next thirty seconds, grabbing the surprisingly light body (this must be a woman), maneuvering them both back onto their feet (wow, she smells amazing), and letting her go. His brain catches up enough to stammer out an apology, and if he wasn't sure before from her stature or the light, delicious floral scent she carries, he is now when a full grin and the words "whatever, man" make their way out from under the hood. She is already speeding off in the opposite direction from Steve as he is left wondering what the hell just happened. 

As he looks around, trying to regain his bearings, he sees that she must have come running from the street to his right. He hears the sounds of someone moving about, shuffling feet and the clatter of metal, and he heads over to investigate. What he finds is an older man, likely opening up his shop, muttering as he picks up cans of spray paint about "Goddamn teenagers, they're all on drugs." The man moves away before Steve can ask him if he's alright, and he finally gets a glimpse of what the shopkeeper is muttering about. 

On the wall next to the man's shop he sees graffiti of two policemen, dressed in uniform, kissing each other on the mouth. He can smell that the paint is fresh, can see that this is what made the shopkeeper angry, that this was what the girl was doing that caused her to come running into Steve. 

Why would anyone do this? Why would someone draw on a wall? Why a picture of two policemen kissing? He could concede that the artist - the girl- had some ability, which made him even more confused. If she had the talent to make real art, why would she paint something he didn't understand on a public wall with paint from a can? Steve was intrigued by the girl, that was certain. Now he wished he had thought to stop her, so that he could ask her these questions (and smell her scent again). 

He pushes his body back into it's interrupted rhythm, runs the rest of his route as the sun comes up and the city wakes. This time, although he's just as distracted as before, his thoughts are on someone just as mysterious as Bucky, but a lot closer to home. 

☆

The next time Steve sees The Girl, it's a much different encounter. Okay, it's still because he's on a run. But this time, it's the middle of the day, the sun is shining down on the city, and Steve has made it to the park that is his goal for the day. He jogs lightly from the path into a grove of trees so he can cool down and stretch. He hates being so idle; as the only person on the planet gifted with his body and abilities, feels he should be putting them to good use, but there are no moves to make at the moment, and Steve is second guessing his choice not to help Fury against HYDRA. In the meantime, he is going to enjoy the sunny day and relax a little even if it kills him. 

He has finished his stretches and is lying on the grass trying not to notice all of the activity around him (child 30 feet to the north crying because he wants to go home... two elderly men playing chess at a table just through those trees... the scent of a hot dog vendor... the splash of water in a fountain...speckles of light falling through waving leaves). He rests on his back in the grass and talks to himself. 

"I am going to learn how to be a human being again. I am not a machine that needs a purpose to function. I will find things I love and spend time doing them. I will draw more. I will create new relationships with people who live in this century. I will learn how to have fun."

Maybe if he repeats this to himself often enough, it will start to sink in. Maybe it will offset the other list, the one that he can't get to stop repeating in his head, especially late at night (I am going to find Bucky I will make everything better I will fix this mess I will get my best friend back I will find Bucky). 

Then the wind shifts and Steve smells the clean, mouthwatering scent that is The Girl. Shocked, he sits up and looks around before realizing how obvious he's being. He forces himself to relax, and nonchalantly scans the area, attempting to pinpoint where the wind is coming from. It's not his fault that it takes so long to find her, because after a moment he realizes she is in a tree. 

As his more-than-perfect eyesight focuses on the dark mass buried in the branches of an oak, he is already rising to his feet. His initial thought is to walk right up to her; instead he forces himself to slowly walk to a bench nearby where he can see her, but he is out of the way. Finally he lets himself take a look at the face that was covered by a hood and darkness on their first encounter.   
He sees a mass of chocolate brown curls spilling out from what looks to be the same hoodie. Sculpted brows sit over dark eyes with long, thick lashes. He follows the lines of her face down to full, pink lips just in time to watch them form the word "shit." He glances down to see her vigorously erasing something on an artist's pad. Steve is sorely tempted to approach The Girl, badly wants to find out what she is drawing, and he is halfway off of the bench when The Girl throws the pad into a backpack and jumps down from the oak tree. He watches as she slings the large, worn pack over her shoulders, pulls her hood back over her curls, and saunters along the grass and back onto the path. 

Steve sits on his bench, stunned by the course his day has taken, and ponders all of the things he is going to look up on the Internet when he gets home. 

☆

If Steve happens to change his early morning run to a late afternoon run, if Steve happens to change his route so that he stops by the grove of trees to stretch, well, it is certainly not because of The Girl. It is simply a fringe benefit. It would be a complete betrayal of his friendship with Bucky, of the years he has spent with his best friend, of their blood, sweat, and tears, to spend so much time obsessing over some girl who, okay, is an artist and smells good and is quite pretty, but... what was he saying? A complete betrayal of Bucky. Still, as long as he doesn't actually talk with her, as long as he is simply happening across her on his morning run, well, Steve needs to run, it isn't a betrayal (especially if he doesn't think about it). 

Although when Sam asks him about it, why he has stopped showing up to their morning runs, Steve tells him he just likes his new time better now that there is nothing else for him to fill his day with (Bucky, when the hell are you going to give me something to go on?). Sam, being the awesome friend that he is, shuffles some things around at the VA so he can run with Steve at his new time. Steve absolutely does not sigh at this news. 

And so it is that after only a few weeks of seeing happening to run past The Girl, Steve finds himself saddled with Running Buddy Sam and trying to decide what to say about everything. Somehow he doesn't think he can get away with not mentioning it at all. He manages to get them to the grove of trees, and smoothly suggests stopping to stretch (Sam never says no to a break when he's running with Steve), but now here they are and all he wants is for Sam to be somewhere else for a few minutes (just a few minutes, he swears, Sam is a great friend and he wouldn't drop him and oh god, Bucky). Steve still hasn't figured out anything to say, but he can't stop himself from glancing over at The Girl, hidden in her oak tree, just once (okay, a few times) so of course Sam notices. 

"What, are we running a new route because you've got a lead on Bucky? You need backup, man?"

Steve takes a moment to look down and sigh, hands on his hips, before diving into this minefield. He sees Sam starting to say something else, and cuts him off. 

"No, no, it's nothing like that. I was just wondering what she's drawing, no big deal."

Sam glances over at her. "I know you've got amazing senses and everything, Captain, but I gotta tell you, not even you could tell that's a girl from over here, and I definitely can't see a sketchbook or anything..." He grows a smile and points a finger at Steve. 

"I see. So she IS the reason you changed your route. You like this girl. Well, why the hell haven't you gone over there and asked her out, loverboy?"

"Aw hell, Sam, it's not like that." Steve starts, pulling Sam down onto the bench that he loves because he's got a good view of her, while she has to turn her head to see him. "It's a kinda long, strange story. I didn't change my route for a girl. Well, okay, I guess you could argue... but that's not the point. She's unusual and I noticed her here and I'm curious, I admit, but it's not because I want to ask her on a date."

"Well, my friend, I guess you'd better enlighten me on this long story, but it's gonna take some convincing to get me onto your 'I changed my day around so I could spy on her but I'm not interested' page. The grin has not left Sam's face. 

Steve has no choice but to tell him about The Girl and their first meeting, her graffiti, and finding her here. Sam's comments range from "only you, man," with a shake of his head, to a little explanation on the graffiti "I've seen that piece! You know they're making legislation on Capitol Hill right now about gay marriage, its a pretty timely statement." In the end, though, he stands. 

"Steve, you know I love you, bro, and I know you've got a lot on your plate with Bucky an all, but you're full of shit. You may or may not be attracted to this chick, I haven't even gotten a good look at her, but you have no excuse for not talking to her! So we're changing that, right now."

With that Sam is already moving toward the tree. Damn him, but he played this well enough that if Steve stops him now, it will make a big scene in front of The Girl. He quickly moves toward the oak tree, fantasizing about Sam at the foot of the tree, bound and gagged. Sam calls up into the tree. 

"Hey, how's it going? I'm Sam, and this is my friend Steve. Steve here's an artist, too, and we were curious what you were drawing. Do you mind if we take a look? What's your name?" Steve is definitely going to kill Sam now. An artist? Steve isn't that talented! And nobody goes walking up to a girl sitting in an oak tree in the middle of a park and asks her what she's drawing. Dammit, Sam! 

As Sam starts talking, The Girl sits up, pushes her hood back, and shakes her curls loose. By the time he's finished, her lips have curled into a mocking smile. Steve is definitely going to kill Sam now. 

"Sam and Steve, is it? Well, you can call me....Stacy" she replies in a facetious tone. She looks Steve up and down. He does not blush. Seriously. "Your friend has a lot of muscles for an artist. Are you sure that's the story you wanna go with?"

Sam, however, banters back. "Hey, now, don't judge poor Steve over here. Just cause he's got a rockin' bod doesn't mean he doesn't have layers too." At this her soft pink lips open into a quiet laugh. "Now why do I get the feeling that Stacy isn't your real name?" 

"No offense, man, but you guys look a bit too much like cops for me to be sharing all my deepest secrets." She is smiling, but her words are serious. Steve realizes how this might look to her, how two men who look like cops asking for her name and trying to look at her drawings would make her nervous. Steve quickly speaks up as she gathers her large, worn backpack and hops lightly to the ground in front of them. 

"I can see how we look a little official, but we're military, not police. Sam here works at the VA." He says in his deep voice. Her attention is on Steve now, and his words are enough to stop her from running away. Her deep brown eyes lock with his blue and her eyebrow quirks up. "If Sam here works at the VA, what branch of the military do you work for? Is it top secret?" An argument could be made to describe her tone as playful, maybe even flirty. 

Sam and he share a look. "Well, honestly, you're not too far off base with that one. Not that it matters, I'm sort of in between assignments right now...I'm taking some personal time." He pauses to clear the thoughts of Bucky from his mind. Maybe he can manage a little flirty back (NOT because he's interested in her that way, of course, but to keep her here so he can assuage his curiosity... because that's what this is- curiosity). "I have to say, I'm a little insulted that you don't think I look like an artist. Granted, it's been a while" mmm about seventy years give or take "since I sold my pictures for graphic novels" see? He even knows the new lingo! "But all the same, I think I'm being unfairly judged based on my appearance." He turns to Sam, mockingly shakes his head. "So sad that someone who looks to be an equitable individual would judge me so harshly." Sam and he share an internal laugh before he turns back to the girl. To take it a step further, he crosses his arms over his chest, knowing his biceps will stand out even more like this. All of a sudden, he realizes he's having fun. 

Her eyes do glance hungrily down at his chest and arms. "Okay, muscles, you've got me there. I admit to being totally judgemental with your secret agent self. But if you're really an artist, let's play it like this; you show me yours, and I'll show you mine." She grins then, eyes bright with mirth, and Steve is blown away by the realization that, when she smiles like this, she is not merely pretty but truly beautiful. Steve is suddenly very motivated to keep this flirting thing going. 

"Oh, sweetheart, I'm more than happy to show you mine. Why don't we meet back here tomorrow -- same time, same place, and I'll show you anything of mine that you want." 

For a minute she leans in just the slightest bit. Then, biting her lip, she steps back, shoulders her pack, and salutes the two men standing before her. "At ease, gentlemen. Maybe you'll see my work tomorrow." With this, she lopes onto the path and within moments she is lost to sight. 

Both men exhale loudly. Sam is the first to break the silence. 

"Holy shit. Let it be said that Steven G. Rogers has got game! I am very proud of you, man." Sam whoops, bouncing a little and grinning a lot. Steve smiles. 

"Actually, I think that's the first time since I found out Bucky was alive that I've had a bit of fun. You are still an interfering pain in the ass, but this time I think it was a good thing." He claps the dark skinned man on the shoulder. "You know, we've still got the whole run back to do. Lets get moving!" Sam groans as Steve starts jogging back to the path, now filled with a new sense of purpose, and even more energy than usual. "But for tomorrow... let's run at our old time. I think this is a solo mission." 

Sam isn't winded yet, so he replies "you got it, Cap." He breathes deeply, hesitating for a second before he comes out with "just a thought to keep in mind... your mystery vandal girl there might be homeless." 

Steve's running stutters to a halt (while Sam victoriously attempts to create a lead). Within moments, of course, Steve has caught up to him and questioning him. "I only know what homeless looks like in the Great Depression. What makes you think that?" He is genuinely curious, as well as worried. This certainly adds a layer to the mystery that is The Girl. 

Sam shrugs. "You know I've seen plenty of it through the VA. I've got a sixth sense at this point for people who are homeless and hiding it. It's the little things, like her carrying around that big ass backpack; could be she's got everything she owns in there. Her clothes aren't exactly a normal going-to-the-park outfit, more long term wear kinda stuff. Same with her shoes- they were heavy duty hiking boots, look like they've seen a lot of use."

The supersoldier quietly contemplates this for a bit. Apparently it's too long for his friend, who pipes back in "hey, man, I'm sorry if that messes things up. One thing I can tell you is this: if she is homeless, she's dealing well, taking good care of herself. Keeping in mind what she was like today, I'd say she might get pissed if you march in here tomorrow trying to help her. Just... keep it in mind. This way you might just avoid one of the many awkward conversations you're bound to get into without your pal Sam here to help you." They share a smile; if only that weren't true. 

 

☆

Watch Steve as he spends half the night pacing around his (empty) apartment. Watch as he holds his phone while contemplating calling Natasha, only to decide better for the tenth time. Watch him flip through his sketchbooks trying to decide what to show the girl; then, later, if anything is even good enough to show her; even later than that, if he should even bother meeting her tomorrow. Let's not talk about the time he spends trying to pick out clothes. 

Truthfully, Steve knows what he's good at, and he is confident in those skills. He knows that his body will never let him down like it did before Erskine and the serum. He knows that he can fight the bad guys few others can. He can lead troops in battle, he can stand up for what's right. Steve knows when to follow orders and when to ignore them (regardless of what Tony Stark thinks). Steve never used to be good at talking to girls; that was all Bucky's domain. At least back then he knew the rules. Since he woke up he has been dealing with this new world by burying himself in what he does know, by working for SHIELD, by trying desperately to find Bucky. Honestly all of that time Natasha kept trying to fix him up on dates was wasted, because he simply wasn't able to have fun when he was filled with thoughts of everyone he knew, dead. Finding out Bucky is alive, as heartrending as it has been, has given Steve a little push in that direction. After all, Bucky would kill him if, when Steve finally brings him back, he has no life to show for the years he has lived free. Steve has been feeling that spending his time doing anything other than searching for Bucky is a betrayal; now he wonders if the real betrayal might be wasting his life, when Bucky has had all choice, all options for enjoyment, ripped away from him. 

Watch Steve as he attempts to justify his desires to his long lost, brainwashed supersoldier best friend. In his head, because he can't find him. This is pathetic. 

In the end Steve showers after his run with Sam (and subsequent teasing / pep talk), throws on an outfit Natasha told him looks good without bothering to look in a mirror, grabs a few sketchbooks at random and heads out the door. 

Maybe walking wasn't such a great plan; he knows himself well enough to know that he needs to stop thinking, and get to the part of the day that involves maybe flirting with The Girl. He tries to remember all he can of the German he learned during the war to keep himself from thinking too much as he heads through the city to the park. Maybe he doesn't love D.C. the way he loved Brooklyn, but he has definitely grown comfortable here. 

None too soon, he nears the grove of trees where she will be. He attempts to fix his hair, then stops himself. He is fine with the way he looks, and if he is going to keep this girl's interest, it shouldn't be because of his hair. 

He steps into the grove and heads to her oak tree only to be pulled up short; it is empty. 

Shit. 

He hadn't thought too much about this scenario, to be honest; it seemed like borrowing trouble to start worrying about whether she would come. Now he wishes he had prepared himself a little bit more, because that balloon of hope in his chest where he held all of the thoughts that he was doing something good, moving forward with his life, has deflated. 

To hell with this, he thinks, and finds comfortable place to sit. He's got sketchbooks, and a few pencils, and he is going to sketch outside and enjoy himself today. He doesn't need a girl (no matter how good she smells or how pretty her smile is) to make his day fun. 

Of course, when she comes strolling along twenty minutes later, he forgets all of that crap as he scrambles to his feet. 

"You're late, mystery girl. You're lucky I was still here."

Then, as a shot in the dark, "I don't suppose you're going to let me in on your name today?"

Pulling her backpack off and letting it fall to the ground, she shoots him a frank look as she sits. He joins her. 

"If I wanted people to know where I was, I'd tell them myself. I'm happy with my anonymity, secret agent Steve." He digests that for a bit. 

"I don't have a watch."

"What?"

She smiles and pulls her pack upright, starting to unzip it. "I was late because I don't have a watch. I wasn't all that sure what time it was yesterday when we talked." She looks down as she rummages through her pack, avoiding eye contact. Smooth. 

"Well, now I feel like a jerk. So I'm gonna let you take a look at my stuff first -- just...be nice, ok?" He hands her a sketchbook before he can put his foot any further into his mouth. 

Minutes pass, and The Girl says nothing, taking time at every page to really look at what Steve has drawn. She smiles at times, and nods to herself, but doesn't look up until she has gone through every page. He doesn't mind at all, so entranced is he with her smiles. 

After a moment she looks up. “So… you’re Captain America, huh?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you for reading and for the kudos! Honestly I am writing this without a beta, mostly while my son is napping, so I could use some feedback- let me know what you think!

"So, you're Captain America, huh?" 

When he became Captain America the world was embroiled in the biggest fight of its existence. Steve may have made headlines and been in newsreels, but he did in all from the front lines; he never saw the public's reactions to all of it. Seventy years later, everyone knows who he is and has grown up hearing stories of his exploits. Men like Coulson idolized him, others hated him, but everyone knew of him, and everyone had an opinion. This is why meeting new people is so hard, he thinks; they meet Steve, but they already think they know Captain America. 

Well, Steve has spent at least the last five minutes enjoying himself. The universe must have decided that's his limit for the day. Sigh. Dammit. It is safe to say that the pit has dropped out of his stomach. He sits still for a moment, unable to look away from The Girl, and he has no freaking idea what to say. The Girl isn't laughing, isn't accusing, but is waiting patiently for him to answer. 

After a moment he shifts, runs his hands over his face, laughs a little, and flops down onto the grass on his back. "See, this is why I never socialize." He smiles faintly, head turning toward The Girl, who smiles down upon him. "Can I ask..."

"What gave it away, so to speak?" She pipes in, affecting a faux- thoughtful look, hand on chin and eyes in the air. "Super muscle-y, athletic guy, who runs through the park at quite the clip, in the military but it's shady; all of that is one big clue. But honestly you gave me a sketchbook to look at with pictures of this chick with a '40s hairdo, same with the dudes...actually, all of these drawings have the old timey feel. Put it all together...." she has leaned back, contemplating the sky as she speaks. Steve takes the opportunity to glance at the smooth expanse of throat this pose shows off to him. Then he looks away, because he is emphatically not putting the search for Bucky on hold for the afternoon because this girl is pretty. It totally isn't about that. To his surprise, it really isn't about her beauty right now, but about what she says next. 

She glances back down at him and he realizes that she's probably expecting him to speak. "Good to know. Consider the mental note made: 'never show drawings to anyone ever again'." His tone is joking, but his words are actually pretty serious. 

She laughs lightly, head resting on knee and fingers ghosting over those soft pink lips, before turning back to his drawings. "Okay, then. You're Captain America, etcetera etcetera, can we talk about what's in here?"

Good Lord. This girl is something else. Maybe Bucky wouldn't mind being put on the back burner for a girl who cares way more about his art than the fact that he's Captain America. Now, though, he's a little more nervous about what she has to say. He squirms uncomfortably. When it comes down to it, everyone has an opinion about his work; so few know him well enough to say anything about his private life. 

Steve sits up, takes the opportunity to scoot a little closer to The Girl so they can both see what they're talking about. "Please, go ahead." He is nothing if not polite, especially when it helps him fake the calm he doesn't feel. 

Her chocolate curls swaying forward, The Girl flips through the book with slender, delicate fingers. "To start, you have really good technique. I think you have better technique than I do. I'm jealous." She turns to look up at him, smiling, and he realizes just how close their faces are. It would be so easy to just lean down... but of course she is still focused. On his art, which is awesome. Focus, Steve. 

"That being said, what are you trying to say here? What's the purpose of the art? A lot of your work feels conflicted, and some of it..." she flips through the pages to find one in particular "look at this one. It's like you started out strong, and then you weren't sure where to go. I can see exactly where your mind started to wander, where you stopped wanting to draw this guy. I'm assuming that these are friends of yours from the war, and I don't want to be disrespectful, but..." she stops to think. Steve is held rapt by her words. "...it's like you think you should be drawing them, to remember them or honor them or whatever, but then you get going and you lose whatever inspired you to start in the first place. Does that make sense?" She turns to look at him.

The super soldier looks back at her, trying to figure out what the hell you say when someone breaks down the whole of your life, your state of mind, into a handful of words. The mystery that is The Girl deepens, drawing him ever further into its depths. The longer he stays still, bright blue eyes wide open, soft lips parted, waiting to receive words from his stuttering brain, the more nervous she gets. Finally, she speaks. "Shit. Shit! I'm sorry, Muscles. I mean Steve! Wow, I'm an asshole to say all of that to you. I stand by it, don't get me wrong, but that was probably pretty harsh." A tiny hand is on his shoulder, and he wants to keep it there forever, basking in the small warmth. 

She isn't going to stop herself anytime soon, so Steve speaks over her, shaking his head and laying a hand over the one that rests on his shoulder. Her skin is soft. "No. No, its okay, really. No, I think I really needed to hear all of that. It just took me by surprise. I mean, do you always expose people's inner turmoil within a day of meeting them? Or am I special?" He is smiling, now, and he sees that she is blushing just a little. 

"Oh, y'know, when you spend all your time watching people, you tend to pick stuff up." She jokes, still blushing. "I've spent a lot of time watching a lot of different people all over the place." 

"Hmm. Well, now that you've figured out, in ten minutes, my secret identity and the existential reasoning for why my drawings aren't all they can be, how do you feel about sharing yours? Drawings, that is. You did promise." He comes as close to purposefully flirting with her as it is possible for Steven Rogers.

She has been rummaging through her bag as he talks (he does not try to peek at what is inside, because he was raised a gentleman, even though it is an enormous temptation to see what is in there), and she has a drawing pad in hand. She makes as if to hand it to him, then pulls it back with a smile. Steve plays along, pretending that he couldn't have caught it anyway. 

"Actually, I'm only gonna let you see one picture today. You've got to earn more, so no peeking!" She flips to the last filled page with one hand as she runs her fingers through her curls with the other, eyes trying to be stern but dancing merrily instead. "This is what I'm working on right now." 

Steve takes the pad from her carefully, eyes shifting from her face to the page. He sees a style similar to the graffiti he saw that night, clean lines and realism. Though it is far from finished, he can clearly see the image of a young man breastfeeding a baby. 

He takes a minute to look, really look at what she has put time and effort into, and finally looks up at her, shifting to face her. This is his chance to find out some of the 'why's' that have been plaguing him. 

"Will you tell me about this? Tell me everything. I don't understand why you drew this, and I want to." 

So they spend the sunny late spring morning talking, and Steve gets a crash course in gender identity and modern society. All of this is completely new to Steve, but The Girl doesn't laugh or judge his questions, instead answering him as truthfully as she can, and with such passion that he can't help but feel it too. He is so far out of his element, but she is open and honest, gesturing emphatically with her hands or running them through her curls, leaning into him at times; he is captivated by her speech, and even more so by her ideas. 

After a while he looks back at the sketch. 

"How do I get to see more of what's in here?"

She grins as she takes the pad back. "Two ways." She looks to make sure he is listening. He raises his eyebrows to show he is. "One: you have to draw something good. And by good I mean something meaningful, that you want to draw, even if you don't know why. It cannot be a 'supposed to' drawing." At his laugh, she rolls those deep brown eyes and smiles for a moment. "You know what I mean! We don't make art because we are supposed to. None of that is welcome here." She speaks these last words with such passion that Steve wishes he could keep them forever.

"Okay, okay, I get it. Steve must create meaningful art. What's number two?"

"Two is you help me spray paint this on a wall somewhere." She waves the pad. As he immediately starts sputtering, she shouts, waving the pad more emphatically. "C'mon, Steve! This is art! It's all about taking risks! You know you want to. Plus, I could use a helper who can run really fast" she jokes. "Whaddya say?" She jokingly tries to make puppy eyes, but the expression on her face is arrestingly beautiful. 

Steve smiles, tilts his head back, eyes closed. He stays like that for a moment, then shakes his head, still smiling. "I don't know... you're still working on that one, right?" She nods. "How about I work on drawing something good, to start, and when you're ready to put that up you let me know. You're crazy, you know that?" 

She nods again, laughing. "I definitely know that. But you're crazy for wanting to talk to me! Don't think I didn't see you, looking at me from the bench, too shy to come up and talk." She leans towards him, definitely flirting this time. He flushes at the mention of his (not stalker-ish) watching of her. "Actually, I take that back. You need more crazy in your life." He shakes his head. 

"If you knew what crazy stuff I've dealt with, you wouldn't say that. I got shot by my best friend not that long ago."

She raises her eyebrows. "Point. Then let's say... less crazy in your work life, more fun in your personal. Sound good?" The way she bites her lip as she banters with him will haunt his dreams tonight for sure. 

He laughs. "Here's to wishful thinking." For a moment they are silent, and he realizes that they've been talking for hours. He stands, stretches. "I've got to get going." What to say next? He wants to see her again, but isn't sure how to ask. The fact that he didn't confirm whether or not she is homeless does not simplify matters. To his relief, as he's debating internally, she steps in. 

"Well, maybe I'll see you tomorrow then? You can tell me if you made any progress drawing and I'll continue to tempt you to break the law" she winks. 

"Sounds like a plan. See you tomorrow." He has gathered his sketchbooks, saluted her with them, and walked away before he can turn this goodbye into something awkward. Heading home, he jogs lightly, smiling and bouncing his way home. He already has an idea for what he's going to draw tonight. 

☆

The next morning he calls Sam up on the phone, because modern technology is not hard to figure out. Why does everyone think he's against progress? 

"Sam. How are you? I need a bit of advice. Do me a favor and don't make me regret asking you." 

"Steve, buddy! What's up? You know I've always got time to help you out. Please tell me this is about your little love affair. How did the date go?"

Steve huffs out a sigh. "You see, this is exactly what I'm talking about. Yesterday was not a date. I, unlike some people, am a gentlemen, and trust me, meeting at the park is not a date. It is about The Girl, though." Here he pauses. It's times like these when he misses Bucky most. Bucky would have been right in the thick of things, and Steve aches thinking about it. Sam is a good friend, but this is Bucky's territory. It feels wrong to go to someone else, knowing that Bucky is out there right now, doing God knows what.

"Sam, this girl is amazing. I had a great time, we talked about art and other things for hours. I didn't feel awkward at all. But the way we left things yesterday was that we would see each other today like normal, and I don't know proper etiquette anymore. It feels wrong to stop by expecting for a repeat of yesterday, and it feels weird to jog by with you, to stop and chat for a bit. Will she be expecting me to ask her on a date? Am I taking up too much of her time?" Steve apparently needs to finally give in and watch some television, so he can see some examples of how people interact who aren't government agents. 

“Oh, Steve, I’ve got you covered. Don’t you worry, your wingman has got your back!” Steve can easily picture the expressions and gestures that go along with Sam’s words. “Here’s what’s going to happen; we are going to go running to the park at our new time. You’re going to stop by and say hi, and I will say hi, and I will leave you two to talk. You focus on getting to know her better, and forget about everything else. If after a few minutes it looks like I’m gonna finish the run on my own, well then that’s what I’m gonna do. Don’t worry about it. Whaddya think, Cap? Sound good?”

Steve calms, knowing that Sam’s idea is the easiest option. For some reason, though, there’s something that still doesn’t feel right about all of this. What is it that feels so strange?

“Steve? You there, man?”

His attention snaps back to the call. “Sorry, Sam. I got a little distracted. Your plan sounds great.”

Apparently his response is a little lackluster because Sam’s quickly questioning him as to whether or not he’s okay. 

All of a sudden, Steve realizes that he is really not okay at all. “Not really, Sam, I’m not. Just…” he pauses and runs his fingers through his hair as he attempts to put his thoughts into words. “I just don’t know how I got here. I like this girl, and I have had more fun with her in the last couple of days than I have since I realized Bucky is still alive - no offense - but what the heck am I doing? I don’t remember deciding to have a normal life, I feel like I fell into it all, and now I’m stepping back and wondering whether this is all such a good idea.” He feels like these last few days he has been more exposed and vulnerable than he has since he woke up. 

“Oh, Steve, my friend. Let me start by saying that you will never, ever have a normal life. It’s just not going to happen. You are extraordinary, whether you’re working for SHIELD or fighting Nazis or doing nothing, so let’s keep that in mind. But I have two questions for you. Are you ready for them?”

Steve nods, and then when he realizes that he’s talking on the phone and Sam can’t see him, mumbles something to the affirmative. 

“My first question is this: if I were asking you for advice because I found myself in a situation like this one and I told you that I felt like I couldn’t have a life outside of my work, what would you say?”

Steve thinks. “I’d tell you that everyone deserves to live their lives they way that they want to, that that’s what we fight for, and that you’ll probably be a better fighter if you have things to balance you out at home.” Silence for a moment. “Oh, okay.”

“Let’s not stop there. My second question is this: when, and I am saying when, my friend, because it WILL happen… when we find Bucky, what the fuck are you going to tell him about what you’ve been doing the last few years? How are you going to help him come back to himself if you haven’t lived a life outside the job?”

A longer silence, this time. Steve focuses on breathing for a minute, just absorbing what Sam had to say. He sees the situation here with a little more clarity, now, but that doesn’t mean that the whole enterprise doesn’t terrify him. He became Captain America to do something good during one of the worst times in human history; he never had a chance to learn how to be a person again before the plane went down. He certainly doesn’t know how to be a person in this new century. But, for Bucky, to help him, and also because he does deserve it, he will try. He doesn’t think that The Girl is the only way towards a life outside of work, but he’d be crazy to turn away from the one thing bringing him out of his shell. 

“Thanks, Sam. I really needed that.” 

“No problem, man. You know you’re not even close to the only person I’ve coached through this transition, right?” Steve laughs.

“Yeah, I know. So… I’m gonna go do non-work things, and I will see you in a few hours. Thanks again. You’re a good friend.”

“It was my pleasure, Cap. See you in a bit."

Steve walks over to his desk. He puts his phone down and picks up his drawing supplies. He sits, opening up to a new page and getting his pencils out, and then stills. With eyes closed, breathing deeply, one minutes passes. Then two...three....more. Steve opens his eyes, taking one last deep breath in before turning to the page in front of him. He starts drawing, and doesn't stop for more than an hour. He sits back, feeling suddenly drained and quite hungry. 

He goes through the motions of making himself some eggs on toast, eating on autopilot while his brain continues to process the conversations he's had in the past few days. Finally he stirs, coming fully back to reality, and stands. He cleans his dishes, then moves to the bedroom and dresses for is run. Today he has no trouble picking out clothes to wear; partly this is because he's not feeling ashamed of the fact that all of his running gear shows off every single muscle on his torso. Last he packs a small, lightweight pack he can wear while running, putting his sketchbook and pencils, water and a snack (and a few extra in case Sam or The Girl want one) inside and putting it on. 

Five minutes later, Steve finds Sam at their usual meeting place, and they start their run. 

☆

Steve makes sure to ask Sam about what's new, and so as the two men run, he happily focuses on his friend's stories of his new crush on the hot girl who just started working at his favorite coffee place. As they enter the grove of trees, slowing down to a jog, Steve's eyes automatically search for The Girl. 

Behind him, Sam must have been looking as well, because he hears "hey! Where's Mystery Girl?"

Steve smiles. "She's here somewhere. I can tell." Sam grumbles about stupid super soldier senses, unfair, but Steve is focused on The Girl's unique scent floating through the air. He closes his eyes for a moment, trying to locate it's origin.

"Hey guys, what's up?" Steve's eyes snap open in time to see The Girl drop from a tree branch onto the ground between him and Sam. 

Sam jumps. "Holy shit, give a man a little warning before you pull a stunt like that!"

As the two banter back and forth, Steve unslings his pack from his back, takes a drink of water, and settles himself on the ground. This is exactly what he should be doing today, he thinks; enjoying the warm summer sun with people who make him laugh.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos, and for reading! It really makes my day.   
> A little bit if smut in this one, more to follow but please let me know how I did.

It is one of those perfect days; the sun is shining, not a cloud in the sky; it is warm, but not too hot, with just enough of a breeze; the three of them have been sitting under the shade of the oak trees, sprawled in the grass for long enough to get comfortable. The Girl is sketching in her pad while debating gun control laws with Sam, and this is perfect for Steve, because he gets to hear both sides of a contemporary issue he knows nothing about and he's not expected to contribute. The two of them are impassioned but not angry, enjoying the intellectual battle and the chance to make jokes, not taking any of it too seriously. Steve basks in the breeze, leaning back on his elbows, watching the leaves dappled with sunlight overhead. The way that the two of them interact -The Girl and Sam- differs so obviously from his own interactions with her that he feels now confident that she would not object to them being more than friends. It put him at his ease, a little bit, because he has gotten enough of a read on The Girl to be sure that she will not wait around for him to make a move.

He has stopped listening to their conversation by now, drawn into the play of the leaves in the wind, thus it takes him a second to hear his name. So relaxed has he become that he simply rolls onto his side, cocking an unapologetic eyebrow at the pair. 

He sees The Girl leaning toward him, eyes dark and teasing. "Hey, Captain Muscles. Head in the clouds? I was asking you about your assignment."

Ah, yes. For this, he sits up, dragging his pack to his side so he can bring out his drawings. Wordlessly he turns to a page - she would never know, but Steve has drawn the stretch of river where Bucky pulled him out- and hands it over for perusal. Sam, nosy as ever, leans over The Girl's shoulder to see. She pushes him away, and he melodramatically slumps to the ground, feigning injury. It strikes him then that The Girl has already carved out a space for herself in his life. This is simultaneously encouraging and terrifying when he realizes that the next step is for her to meet Natasha. 

The Girl looks up at Steve, smile shining bright on her face. "Ahh...this is fucking awesome, Steve! You went way beyond what I thought you'd manage in a day." She lets out a cheer and Sam joins her, making him blush just a little. "You have definitely earned another peek at my work. In fact..." here she holds up a finger, grabbing her own sketchpad and ripping off the top page, "I drew this with you in mind." She bites her lip coyly, waiting for his reaction. 

Steve receives the drawing with some trepidation as to the subject. It is obvious to him that this is what she has been drawing as they've talked. He holds up the page, angled so Sam can view it as well. 

'Captain Muscles' is the headline the drawing bears on a banner at the top. Underneath is a caricature of Steve: hair perfectly combed, face exaggerated but still handsome; his torso bulging with ridiculously large muscles, hands on hips; the look completed with his normal running clothes and a cape to top it off. The background, Steve notices, is The Girl's graffiti, and Captain Muscles comes equipped with pencil and paper in hand. 

Sam is laughing so hard he has fallen back to the ground. As Steve looks up at The Girl, she smiles and winks at him; heat flashes through him for a moment, and he tries not to let it show as he smiles back at her. He likes this drawing. For once, it has absolutely nothing to do with Captain America. This is a sketch of who Steve is without being a superhero, and he appreciates that. 

"Girl, please tell me I can get a copy of that! I will beg if I have to." Sam finally asks after he has gotten his laughter back under control. 

"I'll do you one better," she offers, "why don't I just make one about you?" 

Steve chuckles. "Please do. I'd like to see that almost as much as I like mine." She preens for a moment, obviously pleased by his compliment. 

"Yeah!" Sam crows.

☆

As Sam and Steve get ready to depart, hours having passed in the blink of eye, the same as yesterday, The Girl speaks up.

"I have plans for you the next time I see you, Muscles." There is definitely an undercurrent of something else in those words. 

"Oh yeah? What plans are those?" Steve has spent the day feeling comfortable around her; he is flirting shamelessly now, or at least flirting to the best of his ability. 

She leans in conspiratorially, a smile framing her face. "We are going shopping."

Huh? Steve frowns in thought. "Not to sound unenthusiastic, but...shopping for what?"

The Girl bounces a bit, curls mimicking the motion. "Why, I need your help picking out my next canvas! And since you're going to help me put it up, I think you should have some say in where it goes." She finishes magnanimously, with a graceful curtsy.

"Ahh....that." Steve looks down, scratching the back of his head. Suddenly, inspiration strikes him. "Hey! Sam! Sam would be great at helping you shop. I don't know what I'm looking for, I'm sure he would be better at this than me. 

Sam looks up from where he had been texting Natasha. "Say what now? Steve, I know you didn't just volunteer me for something to get your pansy ass off the hook. I know this, because if you did do that, while I was talking to Nat, I would have to let that slip to her, and you know how she gets about you not being social."

Busted. "Great! It's you and me, Captain Antisocial. You free tomorrow?" 

Best not to put it off any longer than necessary. "I guess I am. Would you like to meet here?"

She snorts, pink lips pursing slightly. "Well, seeing as I don't plan on defacing grass, I think the park is a waste of time. How about we meet at 16th and church?"

Steve reluctantly agrees, and they settle on a time (approximate, this time, since Steve has learned his lesson). He makes to leave, but sees that The Girl has something left to say.

She looks down, obviously uncomfortable. "Ok. I didn't want to tell you, but I feel like I should, and please don't hate me...a month ago or so, I might have done a piece with you in it when I saw the museum exhibit. It's still there, I think, and now you'll recognize my work, so. I just wanted to tell you." She keeps her gaze lowered, waiting for his reaction. 

Steve hears Sam's choked off reaction behind him, but he is focused on The Girl. He looks at her soberly. "Well, then, I guess we'd better take a look at it tomorrow."

She looks up at him and nods, relieved that he is giving her the chance but obviously nervous to see his reaction. Steve gives her a particularly warm smile to make up for how they left things, and he and Sam head off.

Sam is laughing at him as they start to run. "Oh God, Steve. Hahaha...only you, man."

Steve's only response is a polite "on your left" as he speeds up and leaves Sam behind. 

☆

That night when Steve is in the shower he can't help but think of The Girl. Honestly, he has thought of her since he left her; the way she bit her lip, or leaned in close to him, the curves of her body as she laid in the grass. 

Now in the shower, Steve's hands can't help but drift down his stomach as he imagines those same curves in his bed. He pictures cupping her full breasts as his hands find their way down to his cock, already flushed and swollen. One hand strokes his shaft as the other circles the head, thumbing his slit and the sensitive skin under his head. He sees her biting her lip, this time to keep from crying out in pleasure, and his hands speed up a bit, one hand reaching down to fondle his balls as the other grips his stiff prick tighter. 

He has never seen a woman in the throes of pleasure, but he imagines it now as he works himself closer. Arousal runs up and down his spine like lightning and he feels himself harden even further as he pictures her underneath him, back arched, cries forcing their way past her lips. Yes. 

A groan erupts from Steve's lips. "Fuck." His hands quicken again, his hips unable to stop thrusting into his fist as his arousal reaches new heights. "Oh fuck." He is close now, so close, and he just needs one more thing to get him over. Her lips spring to his mind, the look on her face dark with desire as she brings his cock to her mouth...

That is all it takes before heat and electricity flood his body and he is pumping out his release, sounds coming from him that he didn't even know he was making. He pumps himself one last time, letting his come wash away down the drain as he leans back against the shower wall to catch his breath. 

☆

Steve knows that it is perfectly normal for him to touch himself. When he was young it was a sin, and something that was never really to be talked about, but people in this century are unashamed, talking of it, using toys to do it, and let's not even talk about what Steve has seen on the internet. He is terrified to think what it says about humanity that, after creating something as brilliant as the internet, they choose to use it primarily as fodder for masturbation. Natasha had cautioned him away from looking at pornography online (as if he ever was interested...well, ok maybe he was, just a little). She had told him that looking at those movies would give him unrealistic expectations, and that at least until he had experienced the real thing, he should stick to his imagination. 

Now his imagination is filled with The Girl, and he is trying to rid himself of these thoughts as he goes to meet her. He will not be able to look her in the eyes if his mind is still filled with fantasies of her writhing underneath him; the fact that he touched himself last night while thinking of her is bad enough. He forces himself to think of war, of mud and blood and gunpowder and coffee that tasted like dirt, men who died in front of him, Schmidt's face underneath the mask. He settles himself down to wait as he reaches their meeting place, firmly steering his thoughts away from lips and breasts and a plump, firm ass.....no. Bad Steve. 

He doesn't notice her at first, which is saying something, since Steve is by nature (and serum) an exceptionally observant man. She strolls up to him, slipping around people as they walk, so normal as to be invisible. With her hood up, the only way to identify her is the same delicious floral scent as always that he picks out of the air as she nears. 

He stands to greet her, and she pushes her hood back, curls cascading out, gives him a smile paired with a quick glance up and down his body. Steve went for nondescript with his clothing choice for today, and he sees a nod of minute approval. 

"Hey! How's it goin?" Her smile is not the dazzling, 'you did something awesome or said something funny, I really like you' smile that makes Steve's stomach clench; it is instead warm and relaxed, which Steve is definitely on board with. Until (if ever) he decides to make a move, he will need to focus on being friendly so as to hide his attraction to her. No erections in public- that is a good goal for the day.

Steve replies to her query (though what exactly he said, he is not so sure), and they begin to make their way to the Smithsonian. Steve is in full observation mode today; if he is to ever find anything out about the mystery that is The Girl, now is his chance. 

This is what he sees: she moves through these streets the way he thinks Bucky would (God, Bucky, where the hell are you?). Or like any spy- not that remotely thinks this is a possibility. But while she walks she watches everything, noticing little things happening around her, anticipating the steps of passersby before they make them. She is graceful and fluid. She nods to people that Steve has barely noticed (he is a soldier, thank you very much, he isn't completely unaware) - she obviously knows these people that lurk in alleyways or who sit quietly in doorways. There are a few times when she cuts through alleys, loading docks, walkways he didn't know existed, and he comes to realize how much better she knows the ins and the outs of the city than he. He wonders how long she has lived here, then wonders how uncomfortable the conversation will be if he asks. 

All the while, as they walk, she is pointing out potential sites for her newest work. She wants these ones to be visible, she says; these issues need to be talked about more, need to be more visible to the public. She points out the side of a popular drugstore chain, a wall near a bus stop, a parking garage; all are public buildings, or corporate chains. To Steve it seems she does not want to hurt the locals, and when he asks her, she affirms that this is indeed part of her reasoning. 

They slowly weave their way through the city. Although some locations get a veto from Steve on account of being too exposed (he really doesn't want to do this, and if he is he definitely doesn't want to get caught, but she just smiles a slightly evil, slightly daring smile), in general Steve doesn't have much opinion about where this goes. Having made their way to their destination The Girl asks him his favorite spot as they near the Smithsonian, and his answer is the spot that is (of the not completely strategically unsound) most aesthetically pleasing. When she hears his response she turns to face him, still walking, and smiles a smile of breathtaking beauty- it says how pleased she is with him, how much she agrees, how much of a kindred spirit she has found in him. In that one moment, the entire prelude-to-committing-a-crime walk is worth it. 

Then they near the museum. She guides him around the back, explaining that this piece was purely inspired by Captain America, with no political agenda, and so it came to life on a wall of the building that was far less exposed to the public eye. For this Steve is thankful. He knows enough of this beautiful girl to know that whatever he is about to see will be startling or embarrassing or uncomfortable in some way. Honestly, it seems that The Girl lives to make others uncomfortable. Although she did show nervousness in her confession yesterday, today The Girl seems to be calm, reserving emotion until she can see his reaction. She is obviously not ashamed of the piece itself. 

The pair finally make their way around the building and there it is. He attempts to mentally prepare himself for whatever he will see there. This is what he sees: Captain America on the left, right out of the WW2 propaganda posters that he's sure she saw in the exhibit inside. On the right stand a line of men, all facing the Captain. There are words- he walks closer to read "Everyone salutes Captain America." Hmmm. He looks up to confirm that the men are not saluting. Brow furrowed, he looks to the picture again, trying to decode the meaning... ah. Okay. There is that feeling of discomfort he was prepared for. As soon as he figures it out, he whips around, facing away from the dirty wall, blushing. 

"Those men have..." here he is lost for words; he cannot bring himself to say it. He stares firmly at nothing, willing his blush to disappear. Definitely uncomfortable. 

"Yeah, that's the point. They're saluting you in their pants. No offense to you, but honestly I couldn't even focus on the exhibit I was so busy staring at pictures of your muscles...." she trails off, moving closer to him, trying to catch his eyes. He shies away from her gaze. Looking the woman who made art as a tongue-in-cheek nod to your physique? The very definition of uncomfortable. "Holy shit, can you really not say 'erection'? Come on, man, I know you were raised in the '20s, but they had erections back then, too."

Steve closes his eyes. Now she's talking about erections again. This is not helping his blush. 

She nudges his shoulder jokingly. "Cmon Steve, the way you're reacting, I'd think you were a virgin.." he grimaces the tiniest bit. Damn. Busted. Let the jokes commence. 

"No. No, no, no. You," she pauses for dramatic effect "Captain America, Steve fucking Rogers, cannot be a virgin. Really? Really??" She is incredulous, mouth agape at the thought, still trying to look him in the eyes. "It's not possible for someone as insanely fucking hot as you" what? Insanely hot...hmm.."to be a virgin. I get the whole middle of a war thing, but you've lived in D.C. for like two years now! How has someone not jumped you?"

Now he looks at her. He might not have social graces, but he takes his work seriously. "I have been kinda busy, you know...the whole secret agent thing?"

That stops her cold. She straightens, thoughtful. "Actually, you not getting laid 'cause you're too busy working is pretty believable from what I know about you. Damn." That seems to take the wind out of her sails for a moment. She takes a deep breath, shaking her head. 

There is pause, and Steve hopes for a moment that he is off of the hook. Then The Girl gathers steam again. "Fuck that. It is a travesty no one's fucked you. Completely unacceptable." He flushes at her language, and intent. This is beyond embarrassing. Not that he wouldn't have told her, if they'd gotten there, but it seems unlikely she'll be interested now. 

While he's been mentally soliloquizing on his lost chance, however, the beautiful girl in front of him has stripped off  
her hoodie. And is toeing off her shoes and working at the button of her jeans.

Oh god. 

This has to stop. This is not how he wants to watch her strip (and he does want that, enough that it is hard for him to move). He grabs her hands gently before she can ruin that whole no-erections-in-public thing. "What are you doing?!"

Her face is so close to his like this, her lips just inches away. So close he could just lean down and taste....but no. He tries to listen. "What does it look like I'm doing? You are a virgin, it is wrong. I am fixing it, right now." She makes to twist out of his grip, but he holds her wrists gently but firmly in his graso. For some reason this makes her moan. 

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hey now, I'm really flattered, and all, but this doesn't seem like the best time or place for...um...that." he coughs a little in embarrassment. At this point he can feel the heat coming off of his ears as well. He'd like to let her go so he can pick her hoodie back up, but he doesn't trust her to keep her hands to herself. 

"I'm an old-fashioned guy, you know. "

She tries to free her hands again, eyes closing a little, eventually opening to quirk an eyebrow at Steve. "You don't seriously believe in waiting until marriage, do you?" The expression on her face would be best described as 'anticipatorily derisive'. 

"Not anymore, I don't." Her expression lightens. "But I DO believe that...intimacy...should be kept out of public places." This he manages to get out with his usual amount of confidence and snark. 

She grins lazily up at him. "Oh, the things I could teach you. I would have so much fun proving you wrong. Are you sure I can't even give you your first blowjob?" Her face is the picture of innocent solicitousness. 

There goes the no erections in public thing. Damn. 

"Thanks, but I'm not really looking for pity sex." The Captain America commanding voice always works. He lets her hands go, and to his relief, they stay at her sides. 

"Touché." She recovers. "Well, what do you think of my piece?"

Steve can't help but start laughing. He looks behind himself at it. Considering the conversation he just had, it doesn't seem so bad anymore. 

"You are something else, you know that?" He laughs some more, a genuine belly laugh. "I think...it's flattering. We'll go with that." 

She is smiling the kindred-spirit smile which is his favorite on her. "I'll take what I can get from, Captain America. That guy really turns heads, you know?" She follows her statement with a wink. 

Lord help him, this girl is trouble.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello wonderful people! Thanks for reading, giving kudos, etc.   
> *sniff* if only someone would comment! I would be so happy! 
> 
> Hopefully you like it, no smut, but one of the reveals...
> 
> Enjoy!

Three weeks later, Steve is out to dinner with Sam at their favorite Indian place. As they sit down and settle in, Sam starts talking. 

"Ahh. I am starving!" He exclaims as he peruses the menu. "What are you gonna have? If you get the saag paneer can I have a bite?" Every time they come here, Steve always orders enough food for three normal people, and Sam always steals bites of his saag paneer. It's becoming a tradition. 

Sam looks up from his menu (Steve isn't sure why he's even looking at it since he always orders the lamb vindaloo, but that's beside the point). "Sorry I haven't been around lately, man. Things have been nuts over at the VA." 

Steve smiles and waves his apology off. "Yeah, yeah. I know you've been spending all your time trying to get that new girl at the coffee place to go on a date with you, don't lie."

"Hey, now, no need to poke fun at the normal guy who has to work to get dates!" 

Steve snorts. "Why do you think I don't have to work to get dates? You've never seen me on a date since we've met. I haven't been on a date since 1941, when Bucky got drafted, and let me tell you- those dates were memorable only for how disastrous they were."

"Now, instead you're embroiled in a strange mutual admiration society with a mystery homeless girl who, I have to admit, is both quite the hottie, and able to put up with your crazy ass. She wins my seal of approval." Sam says with an eyebrow wiggle. Steve rolls his eyes.

"Whatever you say, buddy. Now are you gonna tell me about the coffee girl or what?" 

This launches Sam into a story that continues as they order, and even into their appetizers. They are both chuckling happily as the waitress comes to clear their plates. 

"Enough about me, though. How's my favorite Captain doing? I need all the details on what you've been getting up to with our favorite mystery vandal." 

Steve smiles. Truth be told, the last few weeks have been more fun than he has had since he woke up. He finally feels like he has settled into being Steve Rogers, outside of his work. He has hobbies, and friends... and a sort of life. 

"You know how we were talking about Bucky, and how can I help him find his way back to normal if I don't know how to do it for myself?" Sam has his serious listening face on, the one he wears at the VA for group. "I think I might finally be getting there. The last coupla weeks have been really good, they've...I dunno, given me hope that I'm not such a complete freak that is only good for fighting bad guys." Sometimes this stuff is hard to put into words. But he has faith that Sam will understand him out of anyone. 

"That's great, buddy! I knew you could get there eventually. So what have you been doing that's got you feeling so positive?" Steve wonders if Sam realizes he's in full on counseling mode. He smiles, thinking about all that's happened in the last few weeks. 

"Well, I've still been running, still been doing my usual training. I talked to Natasha, and she gave me more intel on those Hydra bases we think he was kept at; it's more of the same. No sign of him, no activity in the bases in months. Whether he took them out or they ran, they're gone and there's no trace of Bucky. She said the thought that these ones were high up on the list if he was out to get revenge, but if he was there, well... there's no sign of him." Steve sighs, and across from him, Sam grimaces in sympathy. The super soldier slaps his hands down on the table.

"So no new leads on that front. But I've been doing a lot more drawing, and I even went out and bought some painting supplies the other day. I've been feeling really inspired, and The Girl has definitely been pushing me to create things that show some part of what's going on in my head, you know? It's nice to be challenged, when it's not a fight for my life." Steve adds wryly. 

Sam jumps in. "You go, my star spangled friend! I like this new Steve with hobbies and artistic expression and shit. But. Steve. Cmon, man. Has she STILL not told you her name??"

Steve laughs at this, tilting his head back to rest on the booth back with a smile. "I've asked her as many times as I can without making her mad, but she won't tell me. I think she's worried that we're gonna look her up in the system, you know? Government agents and all." He sobers for a moment, pensive. He's been thinking about this a lot. "I think she's got people out there looking for her, and for whatever reason, she doesn't want to be found." Before Sam can ask, he jumps back in. "I don't get the feeling that she's scared of them, or anything like that - I don't think she's in trouble. When she talks about not wanting to be found, she looks...angry." Steve shrugs. "Either way, she's a grown woman, and it's her choice. I'm not going to take that away from her. I just wish she'd trust me enough to give me her name."

Sam nods. "I get it, I do. I see a lot of soldiers come through the VA who are estranged from their families, and they'd rather be homeless, when it comes down to it, then lean on family they don't get along with. I always try to get them enough other options, enough support so they don't end up on the streets, but it doesn't always work out that way. It's heartbreaking." They share a look of deep understanding. War has had lasting effects on the both of them. 

"Well, she's definitely homeless. She at least admitted that much. She said she's a 'rail hobo' - she jumps onto trains and rides around that way." Steve nods at Sam's raised eyebrows. "you know, the first thing I thought when she told me that was 'they still do that?' I mean, that kind of thing was big during the Depression, when I was little. Seems crazy to think that it still happens."

Sam seems to still be processing this information. "Wow. Well, that's new, to me at least. But how long is she gonna stay in town, then? I mean, homeless by definition mean she has no permanent place, but it seems like she must move around the country a bunch."

The blonde nods. "She did talk about it. She pretty much goes where she can make money, or stay with friends, or where she knows she can get enough food to get by. She said she was just down in Florida, working on a farm- there are lots of places that hire illegal Immigrants. Either way, she has some money and she's doing ok getting food. That's all I could get out of her." Steve doesn't want to be too hypocritical, but he does curse her pride a little. "It's damn frustrating, for me to know that I could help her. I've got more money than I know what to do with, and she could stay in my spare bedroom if she needed to, but she doesn't want the help." He feels frustration well up in him, remembering so many times when he was a kid that he didn't have enough food. No one should have to go through that.

"You're one to talk, Mr. Stubborn." Sam laughs. "I get it, you know I do. But you know if you push too far, she's gonna disappear. And with this girl, that probably means she'll be across the country. I bet there are subtle ways you could help her out, like buying spray paint for her art or something?"

Steve blushes, ducking his head. The truth was, he had done exactly that. 

☆

Steve had met The Girl at the same spot as before. This time he was even more nervous. Steve is not a goody two-shoes, and he certainly isn't blind to the follies of government (he felt this way even before SHIELD turned out to be infested by Hydra; now he'd say he's cynical out of necessity and experience). He isn't one for mindlessly following the rules, but he's pretty damn nervous about breaking the law. Maybe it's the thought of doing something he's never done before, or taking a (non Captain America related) risk, or maybe it's because when he usually breaks the rules it's spontaneous, not planned out like tonight. Maybe he's nervous because he doesn't want The Girl to think he's an idiot. Probably all of those things and more. 

Either way, he wanted to contribute something to tonight's adventure, (and if he's helping pay for something when his friend doesn't have a lot of money, well...) so now Steve is carrying his running backpack filled with spray paint. It is late at night, and the street is quiet, so this time Steve hears her coming even though it takes a moment for his heightened eyesight to pick up her form slinking through the shadows. 

She nears him, and as always he inhales her delicious scent. "Sup, Muscles? You ready to do this?" She asks with a big smile. He smiles back at her, nervousness slightly dissipated. 

"I'm as ready as I'll ever be." He answers wryly. She turns and they start walking toward the site they both liked best from their stroll through the city. As they walk, The Girl gives him a brief rundown of what's about to happen. She is animated as she speaks, gesticulating and bouncing, all the while a big grin on her face. It makes Steve grin too, seeing her so excited. He feels more alive now than he has since he woke up- none of the crazy stunts he's pulled fighting for SHIELD have made him feel this way. 

The next half hour Steve will forever remember in brief little flashes. He sees The Girl's beautiful face, smiling as she asks him if he's ready. He sees them working side by side, taping up her design. He hears the clacking sound of spray paint bottles being shaken, smells the chemical odor as they start to work. He knows that he must have looked around, listened for the sound of someone finding them out, but instead he remembers the moment when The Girl tells him to sign the work next to her own tag. And he definitely will remember forever how he chooses what symbol will represent himself on the wall, and how it has nothing to do with Captain America. 

As they run, giggling, away (Steve making sure not to run too fast and leave her behind), The Girl grabs his face in both hands and places a smacking kiss right on his lips. He comes to a stop, shocked, and touches his fingers to his mouth, feeling her warm, soft lips still. In a daze, he starts after her again. He wonders if he will always be chasing after her, stunned by the next surprise.

☆

Steve hides his blush as he nods to Sam, remembering the kiss especially. "I did exactly that. I'm just hoping for more opportunities to surreptitiously help her out. And hoping that she sticks around for a while."

That sobers Sam a bit. "I'm glad that you're having so much fun with Vandalism Girl, but I have to remind you that when she leaves, I'll still be here. And so will Natasha, even if she's not around. If you need someone to critique your art, we'll get you signed up for a class, or if you want to talk to someone else, we'll hook you up with some good vets at group." He sighs, touching Steve's hand on the tabletop. "I just want you to know that you don't have to backslide if she leaves. YOU'VE made these changes in your life, and if you need someone to support you in keeping them up, you'll have that no matter what."

Steve is speechless for a moment. He forgets sometimes how good Sam is at his job. "Wow. Those vets at the VA are darn lucky to have you, Sam. Almost as lucky as I am to have you as a friend. I mean that, buddy. I don't know how I'm gonna repay you for being crazy enough to be friends with a dope like me." 

This makes Sam burst into laughter, and the two of them laugh together as the waitress brings their food and they dig in. 

☆

Steve gets a phone call. Natasha's face stares up at him from the screen. 

"Rogers."

"Steve. I have news for you." Steve sits up. 

"About Bucky? What is it? Where are you?" He might admit to being a tad impatient to know what's going on. 

"It doesn't matter where I am, the information's from over by you- the Smithsonian. One of my informants got word to me that someone fitting Bucky's description was seen at your exhibit. It was a couple of weeks ago, but it's a lead."

Steve swears. Weeks. Bucky might have been here, and he didn't know about it! Even if it was him, the chances that Steve will get lucky and find his trail are close to zero. 

Still, he's not giving up. Ever. A lead is better than sitting around mourning the fact that his best friend is out there, alone, brainwashed (to what degree? Is he Bucky again, or the Winter Soldier?). 

"Thanks, Natasha. You're the best. Give me everything you got from your informant." 

She does. Then, she hesitates. "Steve, I'm going to do everything I can to help you find him. But you might think about bringing Stark in on this. He could use facial recognition software to look for Bucky, and his computers aren't at risk for being hacked by Hydra. I know that it's a risk, but you might soon find yourself at the point where it's the only move forward. "

He sighs. "You're right. We'll see how this lead pans out, first, but you're right. I'll try to wrap my brain around ways to convince Tony Stark to help looks for his parents' probable killer. That's gonna be a fun conversation. "

Natasha snorts. "And that's exactly why you're going to be the one having it, instead of me. Stay safe, Steve."

Ten minutes late Steve is out the door, heading to the Smithsonian to view the security footage for himself. He heads past their meeting spot, and thinks of The Girl. He takes a moment to admire their street art as he passes it. As he nears the Smithsonian, he thinks of how willing she was so rid him of his virginity. 

No. Focus on Bucky. 

He enters the museum, and heads straight for the security office. After explaining what he needed, he is set up at a computer and given access to the footage for the day Natasha's informant said Bucky was here.

Hours pass. Steve might have enhanced sight (among other things), but he knows that Bucky, or at least the Winter Soldier, is aware of where the cameras are placed, and knows how to keep himself hidden. He goes slowly, not wanting to be at all unsure that he has seen every person. 

There. 

There he is. 

What Steve sees is a man in nondescript dark clothing, baseball cap covering his face, facial hair somewhere between "stubble" and "full beard." He freezes the frame. The more he looks, the more sure he is that the man on the computer screen in front of him is really Bucky. 

Steve breathes out a sigh of relief. Then his head floods with a million different questions. 

Seventeen days ago. Does that mean he is still in town? Why didn't he come see me? Did he see me, and I just didn't notice? Does that mean he's remembering?

That is the real question. Is he remembering? it will make all the difference in trying to find Bucky if he remembers who he was... before. 

Steve watches the video all the way through. Looks at Bucky's face for any hint of emotion, any clue as to why he's there. After the third time, though, he admits to himself that it's time to go home. He thanks the security guards, heads outside, and realizes that night has fallen long ago. 

He gets out his phone to call Sam. 

"Hey, Steve. What's up?"

"Hey Sam. How are you? I found Bucky." It all comes out in one big breath. 

"What? That's great! What?"

"Sorry, I'm still processing this. Nat called, one of her informants called, said they had word Bucky was at the Smithsonian. I'm just leaving now. It was true. He was here, seventeen days ago. At my exhibit at the museum."

"Holy shit, man. That's big! He was here! Is he remembering, do you think? No clue where he is now, though?"

"Nope. I know, I'm thinking the same things you are, and I've got no answers. Let's get together tomorrow and figure some of it out."

Steve hears a noise emanating from an alley ahead. Yelling, scuffling, and the sound of glass breaking follow one after the other. The he hears someone yell "get the fuck offa me!" 

"Sam? I'll talk to you tomorrow. There's a fight going on in the street over here, I'm gonna make sure everything's okay."

"Steve Rogers, getting into street fights from 1930 to 2014. Okay, go save people. We'll talk tomorrow."

Steve hangs up and pockets his phone, moving into the mouth of the alley. He calls out to whoever is hiding there. "Everything all right here?"

A figure stumbles out from behind a dumpster, kicking something on the ground. The person weaves in an uncoordinated toward Steve, and he tenses slightly.

"We're all fine over here, rent-a-cop. Don't you know the real cops don't bother coming down this way? It's all druggies and thieves, I'm afraid." The person is still moving forward, and Steve steps forward as well, wanting to ensure that whoever got kicked behind the dumpster is alright. 

He calculates ways to take this guy down. Obviously drunk or on drugs, any ability to fight likely impaired...should be easy enough to get around. As much as this will forever be a part of who Steve is, it's time to check that everyone's breathing and get home. 

Then he hears something that makes him freeze. 

"Steve?"

Coming from further down the alley, he hears a familiar voice. 

"Steeeeeeve! It is you! Hey Muscles!"

It is definitely, unequivocally, The Girl's voice he hears. 

"Hey, Marco, leave Steve alone, he's cool. Steve! Hey. What're ya doin here?" As she nears the man standing in front of him (Marco, apparently), he can tell that she's slurring her words. She might not be stumbling like Marco, but she is also on something. 

Steve takes a deep breath in. Out. What happened to you, Girl? As wild and crazy as she is, he never thought she was doing drugs... never got any sort of hint from her. What is he supposed to do now?

"Hey Girl, what's going on?" He can't keep his tone light, hard as he tries. This whole situation is wrong. 

"Steeeve! Delicious muscled man. Come play with us!" The Girl has made her way to Steve by now, and he gets a look at her face before she throws herself onto Steve in a sort of hug. She doesn't look good. She is pale and sweaty, pupils dilated wide, her body uncoordinated. 

"Why don't you come play with me instead?" Steve asks, plan already in mind. He just has to get her away from this creepy guy...

"Ohh. I will DEFINITELY come play with you, Steve!" She giggles "Catch you later, Marco! We're gonna go 'play'!" This last sung in a singsong voice. 

Perfect. Before she can realize what's happening, he leads her away from the alley. 

"Wait! I need my bag!" No! He was so close. Okay, change of plans. He scoops her up onto his back ("yay, piggyback ride! Go Muscles!"), and quickly runs into the alley. He silently thanks his super eyesight as he easily spots her pack in the dark, scoops that up as well, and heads away again. Marco seems to have lost interest by now, and Steve decides to ignore that man lying unconscious by the dumpster. He just wants to get her out of here. 

They make their way down the street. The wiggling and bouncing The Girl is doing is not helping. "Hey! Girl, I really need you to be a little less wiggly back there, okay? I can't believe I still don't know your name." He says this mostly to himself, as he's pretty sure she's not listening. 

All the same, she settles in, draping herself on his back, her head resting on his shoulder. She mutters something under her breath. 

"What's that, honey?" 

"Viola."

He is stunned. "Viola is your name?"

She nods sleepily against his neck. "Mmmhmm. M'parents are big fans of Shakespeare...'vrybody calls me V." 

V. This beautiful, artistic, energetic, tragic girl has a name. Steve smiles as he makes his way through the darkened streets. And as he tucks her into his spare bed, while she sleeps on, blissfully unaware, he smooths the hair from her head and whispers "goodnight, V."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thanks for reading, kudos, and my first comment! Are you all liking this fic? I wish I had more time to spend on it (instead I should be prepping curriculum for the courses I'm teaching in September). Anyway, here it is!

Steve does not sleep for very long that night. After putting The Girl (No-now we know her name)....Viola...V...to bed, he spends the better part of an hour doing as many pushups as he can (don't want to wake her if he wrecks another heavy bag); it turns out that he can do quite a lot of pushups. He loses count after he reaches a thousand. 

He does eventually get himself in bed, and asleep, but strange dreams of falling, and fighting, and darkness, wake him quickly. It is four in the morning when he finally throws his sheets back and temporarily blinds himself turning on the light. 

He can't stop thinking about what she was like in that alley. Has she been abusing drugs the entire time he's known her? Steve ponders different ways to have this conversation with her. He is resolute in his intention to get...V...help. He will talk with her, he will ask Sam for advice, and she will get clean. If this means that she doesn't want to be friends with him anymore, well...her health is more important. As he plans, he googles (he can hear the voice of Tony Stark in his head saying 'oh my god, the Cap can google?) rehab clinics in the D.C. area. To be honest, Steve is sorely tempted to look at missing person reports - how many missing women can possibly be named Viola? - but he refrains. She obviously doesn't want her family involved, so he will save that tactic for a last resort if she refuses help. Plus, she confessed her name to him while she was high; he doesn't want to abuse her trust.

Plans starting to form in his mind, Steve sneaks over to the spare bedroom and quietly looks inside. There she is, sleeping (in her clothes, he wasn't about to strip her) peacefully. Her brown curls fan across the pillow, a few falling over her face, and his hands itch to brush the back. He admires how long and thick the curve of her eyelashes is as they touch her cheek, but as he takes in her face he notices how sad she looks in sleep. 

Steve is struck again by the depth of mystery this girl holds. He desperately wishes to know more about her, and he prays that she will let him help her. 

The woman sleeping before him turns, restless, and resettles, but not before the hem of her shirt has risen half a dozen inches. Steve stares for a moment at that expanse of skin, struck by how badly, even through all that has occurred this night, he wants to touch her. He wants to find out if it is as soft as he imagines. He wants to pull her shirt up higher and...

No. 

That is definitely not what his brain should be focusing on right now. Steve straightens and turns for the door. 

Viola sobs. She writhes, as if in pain.

"He's dead."

There is another quiet whimper, and then she must pass into deeper sleep once more, because he can see her body relax.

Steve walks out the door, closes it quietly, makes it to his kitchen and rests his head in his hands, leaning against the countertop. This is not where things should be going. There was a plan, and plenty to focus on already, and honestly Steve doesn't want to be thinking about this.

But he does. He thinks about the beautiful girl's sadness in sleep. He thinks about what could have turned her away from her family. Most of all he wonders who. Who this man is who left her so heartbroken...father? Brother? Husband? Of course this last is what stays with him, strikes him as most right. She was in love with someone, and he died. 

The idea that there might not be anyone at all, that it might have just been a dream, doesn't occur to Steve until later. By then he's questioned everything he knows about reading people anyway. 

Steve moves to the sink, fills a glass with water, drinks it down. His mind is filled with thoughts of Viola, and he knows that running is the only way to clear it. Out onto the streets he goes.

His thoughts whirl without focus for a time. It usually takes him four or five miles to get himself into the zone, focused enough for only one line of thought. He runs his long route mechanically, pushing himself hard enough to have to focus on the road, his breathing, navigating obstacles. 

It strikes Steve as selfish that he's focusing on her assumed tragic past, when there's a giant problem staring him in the face: her drug use. He needs to stop thinking about her possible dead husband (and how this affects the two of them) and get his head back in the game. He has a plan to follow through with to get Viola some help. 

Step one of the plan means stopping at a grocery store on his way home from the run. He wants to make her comfortable; he isn't sure what foods she likes best (given an actual choice, instead of dumpster diving or however else she manages to feed herself), so he gets a bit of everything. 

☆

Back at the apartment, the sun is finally filtering through the windows, and Steve moves to take a shower. He dresses, eats breakfast, all while imagining how she will react to his intervention. He is prepared for anger and argument, knowing what he does of Viola.

Not wanting to wake her, Steve settles on his couch with a sketchbook. He becomes so lost in the page that it takes him a few minutes to register what the sounds in his apartment mean.

She is awake.

His eyes are on her door, but he keeps his sketchbook in hand in an attempt for nonchalance as he waits for her to emerge.

Shuffling ensues, and the door opens.

Viola walks to the living room (still shuffling her feet), hair a mess of curls, eyes barely open. She plops herself down in the chair across from Steve and promptly curls in on herself as if she is going back to sleep. The only clue that she isn't doing exactly that is one half opened eye aimed at him. 

He sets his sketchbook aside, moves to open his mouth, but Viola holds up a finger. He waits for her to speak.

She yawns, stretches herself like a cat, and rests her head on the arm of the chair, this time with both eyes open and aimed at him. She yawns as she speaks. 

"One: you totally kidnapped me last night. Two: since you kidnapped me, I demand you feed me. And let me take a shower and wash my clothes. Three: did you just move or something? There is not a single decoration or picture in this whole room. Oh, and four: good morning. Kidnapper."

Steve raises an eyebrow. Why is it so easy to slip back into banter with her? "Good morning, Viola. Not sure it's kidnapping when you jump on my back and pretend you're riding a horse. And I've lived here since the winter. What's wrong with my apartment?" A smile may or may not have appeared on his lips.

She groans immediately upon hearing her name. "Ugh. Noooooo. Bad Steve, taking advantage of my weakened state to get state secrets out of me. I can't deal with you using my name...well, ever...but especially not before breakfast. So get to cooking! And call me V, ok?"

Steve stands and makes his way to the kitchen, glad it is open so he can continue this conversation. Already there's an opening for him to start the intervention. 

"Okay. What do you want to eat?"

"Food. Lots of food."

Okay then. He starts cooking his favorite breakfast, eggs in a basket. "Coffee?"

"No, thanks. Tea?" She looks at him hopefully. Right. It's not likely she'd have regular access to coffee.

He nods and goes to put the kettle on. Now he can get down to business. 

"I'm not sure you can blame me for taking advantage of your 'impaired state' when you put yourself there on purpose. And totally volunteered your name. Do you remember much from last night?"

The kettle sings and he sets about making her tea.

Viola scoffs. "Please. I wasn't THAT fucked up last night. And I chose to be in an impaired state with a bunch of people whose opinions I don't give a fuck about, not in front of you, Captain Judgy."

Hmm. Does that mean she does care what he thinks? He stays quiet, finishing her food and plating it before bringing it to her.

She sits up. "Ahh, food. Yum. Thanks, Steve." She happily munches for a few moments before glancing up to see Steve's face. 

"Oh, I get it. You really don't approve, do you? Got a speech about how I need to clean up my life, blah blah blah?"

His inability to meet her eyes says it all, so he might as well go ahead now. "I can help you. We'll get you into a program, get you clean. I don't want you to die because of something stupid like drugs."

That's about all her can get out before she sets her plate aside, draws her legs up under her, holds her hands out.  
"Okay, I'm gonna stop you right there. Thanks, I guess, for the concern? But I'm good." He makes to interrupt her but is quieted with a stern look. "Not done, buddy. I'm pretty sure you have no practical knowledge of drugs, and what you do know you got from some government program's spiel. The real world isn't as simple as all that. I know you think everyone who does drugs is an addict, but it's way more complicated than that."

She sighs, attempts to run her fingers through her hair, gives it up when they get stuck in tangles halfway through.

"I'm not saying I've never been into drugs. Certainly in college I made some bad choices, got involved in some crazy situations-"

"You went to college?" He can't hold it back. Another piece of the puzzle. He gets a stern look again for interrupting. 

"Yeah. Dropped out." She takes a breath. "I was saying...ok. I've been hard into drugs before. Realized how stupid it was, got myself out, made better choices. But that's not what last night was." She leans forward, looks Steve right in the eyes.

"Seriously, Steve. It was a one time thing. There's... there's just one day every year that's... a really bad day." No looking at him now. She's lost in her own head. "Sometimes remembering is hard, on that day, and I make some bad choices to get through it. You happened to see that, and I wish you hadn't. I promise you, it's not a thing. I don't do drugs, normally."

Not even nine o'clock in the morning and the day has already taken a far different turn than he thought. He shouldn't be surprised by now; it seems to happen every time he's with Viola. 

It occurs to him that this all might be a lot more related to her sleep talking than he had originally thought. It makes sense, in Steve's tactician head at least, for her to be so distraught over the anniversary of her (father's? Husband's?) Loss that she was driven to use drugs. Steve is smart enough to know he's not going to ask her if his hypothesis is correct. 

He takes a deep breath. Looks her straight in the eye. Gets slightly distracted by her eyes, how deep he can stare into them, how beautiful she is. Starts over. He clears his throat.

"Promise me. Promise me, Viola, that you will not use drugs again. I'm not going to ask you for details- I know how private you are, but I need you to promise me. I can't be friends with you if you are doing that stuff."

She rolls her eyes at him, but smiles warmly. "Okay, Dad. I promise. I wasn't planning on doing drugs anyway, but just for you I'll stay clean. Seriously, though, call me V, or Vi... please."

A wave of relief rushes over him. He got so far into his worried delusions of her being a junkie that, now that they have laid everything out, he feels a little ashamed for assuming first and asking questions second. 

"Viola is a perfectly beautiful name. It fits you well. Why can't I use your beautiful name?"

She rises, smirks, rolls her eyes again. "Whatever, Steven Grant Rogers. I'm going to take a shower." She moves to grab her backpack and takes it into the bathroom. Steve hears the shower start as he gathers up the breakfast dishes and cleans up.

Steve spends a moment thinking about Viola in his shower, right now, naked and soaping herself up. He feels heat roll through his body. To stave off another inappropriate erection around the girl, he moves back to the couch and buries himself in shading a figure he drew that morning. Must not think of Viola naked. At least until she's gone, and he can work the tension out. 

"Steve?" Until that moment he hadn't realized the shower had turned off. He turns to the door, to see...

Viola, naked. She has a towel in her hands, that she's using to dry off her hair. Instead of around her body. 

Oh god.

He is looking now, he can't stop himself. He sees toned legs; supple calves, firm thighs, and even the perfect curve of her buttock. His eyes trail up her stomach- slightly rounded, with thin silvery lines tracing her skin, to her breasts, which stand full and rounded, bouncing slightly as she towels her hair. Her arms are toned, strong, the curve of her neck delicate. He is overcome by a desperate desire to lick the whole creamy span of her skin. He wants to slide his hands from her shoulders to her back, down to her ass. He wants to know what she sounds like as he kisses the length of her neck. 

Oh god he is so hard right now it almost hurts. He shifts uncomfortably, moving his hands in front of his crotch. 

"Steve? Earth to Steve!"

So, there's that. He has been blatantly staring at her naked body while she's been, apparently, talking to him. Blush is not a strong enough word to describe what is happening on his face right now. He can't make eye contact, lest his eyes slip down to the rest of her body.

"Umm. Yes. Yeah?"

He glances up from the floor and sees her smirk. She cocks an eyebrow. "Admiring the tats?"

Huh? What? "Huh?" Okay, that was smooth. Steve desperately wishes he could channel Bucky at this moment. He glances back down at Viola's body. Aha- tattoos. 

Steve sees several small designs gracing her skin: a wolf in mid stride resides on the back of her arm; a snake coils around her left calf. Her feet have geometric designs etched into the top of them. "Ahem. Yes. Very nice."

She smiles knowingly at Steve. "Thanks. I did those ones myself." Whoa. What? "Anyway...I was hoping I could borrow something to wear? I want to get all my clothes in the wash while I have the chance."

His gaze drifts down to her collarbone, and lower...

"Yes. Absolutely. Um. Let me just go get something." Dear lord. If he doesn't get her clothed soon, he might actually spontaneously combust. He turns, heads quickly to his room, and pulls out a pair of drawstring shorts and the smallest top he owns. He knows she's waiting for him, but he takes the time to adjust himself in his pants, willing his erection to subside. 

"Here you go. Nothing's gonna fit you, exactly, but that's my best try." He looks over in the corner until she pulls his clothes on, finally turning to face towards her. 

Wow, she smells amazing- like her normal scent, but stronger. "You smell delicious! How did you manage that from my shower?" Okay, that sounded a little weird

Viola laughs. "It's my soap. I make my own, whenever I'm staying with a friend and I have the chance. I make a big batch and keep the extras in my pack. I use it to wash my clothes, too."

"You know, I'm a little ashamed to think that you have more skills useful in the Depression than I do. I'm also pretty impressed."

She beams at that. "Oh, I've got all sorts of skills you don't even know about." She pauses for a moment. "Wow, that sounded really dirty, and hey- you should totally take it that way, I've got mad skills in the bedroom-" she winks at him, "-but I actually have some pretty awesome survival skills. I can start a fire without matches, make an awesome shelter, forage for food, all of that stuff."

"I don't doubt it." He doesn't- she's obviously a survivor, and he doesn't doubt that she can get by on her own. "I'm just a city boy. Things were a hell of a lot different back then, but I'm still a city boy at heart."

It's so easy, being around her. They flow so effortlessly. She makes him forget all of his problems- like finding Bucky.

"Oh, shit, Bucky."

Viola looks a little shocked. "Holy crap, did Mr Moral swear? What the heck is a Bucky? Like Buckminster Fuller and geodesic domes?"

"I don't know what that is, so no, and of course I swear. I went to war against Hitler, there was a lot of swearing." He's already walking into the kitchen to grab his phone. "I can't believe-" internal monologue, stay internal. He can't believe with all of the craziness of finding Viola, this morning, everything.., he has totally dropped the ball on his ONE lead, his only lead in months! He has already dialled Sam's number, holds the phone to his ear.  
"Hey, Sam."

"Steve. I'm surprised you waited this long, I kinda thought you were gonna be calling me at dawn this morning. I'm heading in your direction now- I got the rest of the day off of work, and I'll be at your place in 10."

Phew. At least Sam didn't drop the ball. "You're the best. Come right up."

Somewhat relieved, Steve hangs up and turns to a very confused Viola. "Umm...yeah. I don't really know what just happened."

Steve leans his back against a counter and blows a big breath out, nodding. "Yeah. Sorry about that. Right before I found you in that alley yesterday, I got a lead on someone I'm looking for." He looks up at her; she calmly returns his gaze, no judgement in her eyes. "My friend, Bucky. You've seen the exhibit, right? Bucky Barnes, my best friend in the world, who died in WW2, not very long before the plane went down." He sighs, rubbing his hands over his face.

"Turns out he wasn't dead at all; Hydra captured him, tortured him, brainwashed him, turned him into an assassin. They literally froze him, then they'd take him out, program him, he'd kill somebody, and they'd put him back on ice. We didn't know any of this until this past winter. He came after my boss, he tried to kill me, damn near succeeded, but then at the last minute he saved me. I've been looking for him ever since, and this is our first solid lead."

God. Saying it all out loud...he's torn between wanting to cry and wanting to break something. What he really wants is Bucky here. 

Another shuddering sigh. "So Sam's heading over and we'll see what shakes loose." A thought occurs to him. "You're gonna stay, right? I mean, you haven't even done your laundry yet." Her smile, which was sympathetic, turns genuine. "You should stay here for a few days. I mean, I kidnapped you, right? That means I get to say when you leave." For all his bravado, he desperately wants her here, both for his sake and hers. 

She shrugs up at him, still smiling. "We'll see. Depends on whether you let me decorate your apartment for you."

"What?"

"Come on, Steve. Considering how long you've been living here, there's not a single personal touch in this place. I wanna decorate!" She is bouncing on the balls of her feet in excitement. "Actually, I have a brilliant idea. Oh, please, Steve?" At this last, she even bats her eyelashes, pouting.

God, those lips. 

"How painful is this going to be?" He says doubtfully. 

"It's gonna be great! You're going to help, it will be so much fun!" Her enthusiasm is contagious. Finally he smiles. He reaches into his pocket and hands her some money. He's used to being frugal, but he has plenty, and making Viola excited is a good reason to spend some. "Will this be enough?"

She seems torn between not wanting to accept his money, and excited for whatever plans are in her head. She finally pockets it with a smile. "More than. You know I can make do without." When he nods, she straightens. "I'm gonna go do my laundry so I can get this show on the road!"

As she turns away, there is a knock at the door. Steve goes to let Sam in. 

"Hey, man. How's it going?" Sam's cheerful as he enters the apartment. 

"Ready to find Bucky, that's for sure."

Sam laughs quietly as he makes his way to the living room and sits. "That's the spirit! Impatience." He pulls out a tablet. "Let's get planning, then, shall we?"

Steve joins him. He quickly fills Sam in on what he learned the night before (wow, it seems like longer). He details his appearance, his behavior. What really stands out to Steve and Sam both is how good Bucky was at avoiding observation. It is going to make finding him again near impossible. 

"Nope. We can't think like that. You're committee to finding this crazy bastard, I know, so we can't let ourselves be discouraged....."

Sam trails off, staring at the hallway to the kitchen, where Viola is passing, giving the men a wave. 

Oh yeah. Viola, here, wearing Steve's clothes. Probably looks like, well, exactly what Steve wishes it looked like.

"Oh yeah, Sam, Viola's here..."obviously, idiot. Hmm. He doesn't really want to explain the whole 'drugs' saga of last night and this morning, at least not without clearing it with her first. How to explain? 

"- Steve kidnapped me last night. I'm taking advantage. How's it going, Sam?"

Well, that's one way to put it. He sighs. Sam stares at her blankly for a second, obviously processing, before his face breaks out in a big grin. 

"Viola, eh? Finally found out her name, huh Steve? I'm doing great. Honestly, I'm more curious how the two of you are doing?" There is eyebrow wiggling happening. Steve rests his head in his hands. 

"Can we focus on finding Bucky? Please, Sam?" He really is begging. 

"Yeah, Sam. Leave poor Steve alone. And if you call me Viola, bad things will happen- it's V. Steve's the only one who gets to call me Viola." She stares sternly at Sam, arms crossed. "I'm gonna get out of your hair until my laundry's done. Steve?" She turns her gaze to him with a smile that speak of plans. "Prepare for epic. Awesomeness. It's gonna be great." Viola walks off down the hallway. 

Steve looks at Sam, still grinning like a madman. 

"Nope. Not what you think, let's not talk about it, Bucky! Remember, Bucky, let's focus on Bucky instead." Steve is definitely rambling. At some point, discussing sex is not going to embarrass him. He'd like that day to be now, please. 

After some teasing ("oh, 'Steve's the only one who gets to call me Viola,' huh?") they do settle down and make some plans. Twenty minutes later Steve is letting Viola know where the spare key is so she can get in and out while he's gone. 

☆

The day is spent chasing dead ends. They head back to the Smithsonian, checking records from that day to see if Bucky used a credit card (no- cash, untraceable). They view the footage again, Sam trying to notice things Steve might have missed (he might have missed the hot chick next to the sign, but he didn't miss anything Bucky related). They view the external camera logs, to see which way he went (answer: nowhere. He leaves without ever being in view of the cameras). They case the exterior of the museum, trying to trace his route. None of this helps. 

Hours later, Steve and Sam head back to the apartment with pizza. They sit, slightly dejected, at the table and devour their meal. Sam straightens first.

"We're missing out on the big picture here. Okay, no, we didn't find him, and we're likely out of leads again. But we know some important stuff now!" Steve raises a sarcastic eyebrow at his friend. 

"I'm serious, man. We learned two really great things today." Steve motions to show that he's listening. "First, Bucky was at the Smithsonian. That means he's either remembering things, or at the very least he wanted to find out if what you said was true, and now he knows it is. Either way, that's great! Second, he's outside, in the world, and he has been for long enough to grow a beard. That means he hasn't gotten frozen again, which means that whatever he's been up to, he's stayed out of Hydra's hands. His conditioning is likely breaking down. I don't know about you, but that is good news in my book."

Steve sits back in his chair. He had been so focused on getting Bucky back that he wasn't thinking tactically about this. He's definitely too emotional to see things clearly. Suddenly he's even more grateful for Sam's help with all of this. 

"You're right. God, you're right. That changes a lot, knowing all of that." He looks at Sam, gives him a brief smile. "Thanks for being here, buddy. I need your help more than ever, seeing as how I apparently can't trust myself to be logical when it comes to getting Bucky back."

Sam returns his smile with a little more humor. "What, you mean Captain America isn't perfect? I could've told you that." 

They sit in silent contemplation for a bit longer before Sam takes his leave. Steve stays there, frozen in thought still, until the sound of a key in the lock startles him out of his stupor. 

Viola breezes in, radiating energy as usual, her hands laden with bags. "Hey! Is there any pizza left over there? I got so wrapped up in my project that I didn't eat." Or, he thinks, she was too stubborn to buy herself food with his money. 

Sure enough, she is handing his cash back to him, barely any of it gone. He hands her a plate with pizza on it, happy to sit with her while she tells him about her day; apparently before she went shopping she brought a meal to a homeless man who's having a rough go of it. Steve is fascinated by this girl, and how she has come into his life like a tornado, forcing him out of his solitude and his routines and pushing him back into life. She is so beautiful, so infuriating, so unapologetic- and Steve realizes that he obviously has a type; smart, bold, unforgiving, brunette. 

As Steve leaves the table to clear off their plates, he turns to Viola. 

"So, are you ever going to tell me what this project is?" 

She leaps to her feet at the reminder, spreading out the bags on the table to show him as he walks back to her. 

"Look for yourself!" He can tell that she is excited, but also a little apprehensive at what he'll say.

He opens one bag to find..."drop cloths?" She nods, urging him on. The next contains paintbrushes, in sizes ranging from a few hairs thick to one used for painting a house. The last few contain paint; lots and lots of different colors of paint, the kind that you use to paint walls. 

"So... paint?" She nods again.

"We're going to paint your walls, mural style. We're going to draw crazy, beautiful pictures and paint your walls with things that are going to make you happy to see every day."

Steve stands at the table, staring at this girl, this wonderful, brilliant, beautiful girl. It is perfect, her plan, and she's perfect for again dragging him along into making his life better. 

Before he knows what has happened he is moving around the table toward her, pulling her into his arms, and kissing her.


	6. chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there! Sorry this took longer than normal. I discovered that writing smut is very different, for me at least...and harder. I'm a little nervous about this chapter (which is pretty much entirely smut), so if you like it, or if you hate it, let me know. Pretty please.

Before Steve knows what has happened he is moving around the table toward her, pulling her into his arms, and kissing her. 

A little squeak of surprise escapes Viola's lips, and then she starts moving her lips against his, wrapping her arms around his neck with a soft sigh. 

He steps in closer to her, chasing her lips, one hand pulling her in by the back of her neck, the other sliding down her back.

Her kisses light him on fire; waves of pleasure ripple through his body, and each kiss makes him more desperate for the next. He doesn't think about what he's doing, licking at her lips asking for entry, but then she opens her mouth, tongue sliding along his, and he can't help the deep groan that comes out. This is the most intense, arousing thing that has ever happened to him. He licks into her mouth, desperate for more, and she tilts her head for better access. He pulls her closer, the hand at her lower back pulling her flush with his hips. He is the hardest he's ever been in his life, and now she knows it, too. 

Steve rolls his hips into hers, and Viola pushes right back. A low purr rumbles from her, and Steve desperately wants to make that sound come from her a thousand times more. He rolls his hips again and again, his cock seeking delicious friction and his tongue pillages her mouth as she arches against him.

He loves this feeling so much that he pulls his hips back, not wanting to come in his pants, while his lips move to her neck. He pulls her brown curls aside and delicately trails his lips down her neck, seeking to catalog every reaction. He smirks at the breathy sighs that escape her lips at his gentle touch. He moves back up the line of her neck with a lick, finally fastening his teeth behind her ear. Steve feels her knees buckle. He supports her weight, triumphant at his power over her. 

Seeing as he is holding all of her weight, he easily lifts her up, wrapping her lithe legs around his waist. The feeling of her against him, so close, stokes the fire hotter, and he is walking them into the bedroom without thinking anything except more.

He throws her down onto the bed, and bites his lip at the want he sees so clearly on her face. Her darkened eyes, her swollen lips, chest heaving; it all pulls him toward her with magnetic force. 

She cocks an eyebrow up at him, standing before her, erection straining against his pants so deliciously that he presses the heel of his hand against it for relief. "Lose the shirt and get down here, sexy."

Steve is so aroused that he doubts anything short of war would derail him from this, but nonetheless he hesitates. Is this what he wants? He wants Viola, that much he has known for weeks. He told her he doesn't want pity sex, and he's one hundred percent sure that that's not what this is. He knows that this feels so good he doesn't want to stop, but he can't imagine himself being intimate with her without.....what? A conversation, at least....building up to it...though if things escalate the way they have been, he's not sure how much building he can take. He doesn't think stopping to talk is very romantic...(okay, sexy is maybe the better word here), but he really has no idea what he's doing. Although, he admits, she seems to be enjoying what he's done so far. 

While Steve has been arguing back and forth in his mind, Viola has obviously realized what is happening, because when his slightly less aroused and slightly more hesitant eyes meet hers, she smiles and rolls her eyes fondly.

"Should've known this was about as far as you'd make it. I was surprised when you brought us in here, thought you'd chicken out before then." She confidently stands, moving towards him and placing her palms on his pecs. He relishes the contact. "You don't want to stop altogether, though, do you?" She grins, eying his still very hard cock. 

He shakes his head. 

"Good. I'm not done with you just yet. I know you're not ready for sex. Just let me take care of you, okay?" Steve is in turns comforted by her reasonable expectations of him, amused at how well she knows him, and nervous that he's venturing into uncharted territory. The nerves only serve to heighten his arousal as he nods.

Viola kisses Steve sweetly with one, two pecks on his lips, then attacks his mouth with dirty, wet kisses that ramp them both back up to the fiery want he felt not so long ago. 

Steve leans in for more kisses, becoming more and more addicted to the intimacy, the possession running through him. Viola pulls back, though, and quickly tours his jaw and neck with her mouth, eliciting shivers from him. She whips his shirt off, making to return to her kisses, but she stares at his chest, licking her lips. 

He waits for a moment, but when she stays immobilized, he reaches a hand out to her arm, startling her out of her stupor. She smiles abashedly.

"Umm, sorry about that. It's just, Jesus! I thought I knew how hot you were, but..." she licks her lips again. "I think I may really need to lick something off of your abs in the near future."

Steve laughs gently. This isn't the first time he's been told how good looking he is. "If you like my abs so much, why don't you go ahead and touch them?" 

She moans. "Don't mind if I do." Then her hands are sliding up his sides, his senses tingling. She runs her tongue along his collarbone as her hands trace his pecs and find their way to his nipples. She pinches them gently, and Steve can't help but groan at the pleasure he feels. She pinches again, and he grabs her waist to steady himself against all of the new feelings flooding his body.

Viola quickly presses open mouthed kisses down his sternum and abs, each one making his breath stutter, as she kneels in front of Steve, nuzzling his hard on. 

"Ohhhh, God." Shit, that wasn't supposed to be out loud! It's just that the sight of her, on her knees before him, looking up at him so obviously aroused, is a thousand times better than he ever could have imagined. 

She runs her hand over him, still rock hard in his jeans, and looks up at him. "Steve, I want to suck your cock. Is that okay?"

It takes him a minute to get anything out at all, because fuuuuck, her asking to do that made him so very much more desperate for it than he already was. 

"Yeah. Yes. Umm, please." He shakily runs his hand through his hair and allows her to unbuckle his belt and open his fly. She guides his pants and boxers down in one smooth motion, helping him step out of them and casting them aside. 

This is really happening. Steve feels as if he is watching in slow motion as she runs her hands up his calves and thighs, resting them on his ass. Breathe. 

"Are you sure you're ready for this?" Her big brown eyes bat up at him too innocently to be serious. 

He cocks an eyebrow. "Stop teasing and suck me already." Did that really just come out of his mouth? She moans, then grabs ahold of his dick, pumping it slowly. "Yes, sir."

He can't help the hand that rests itself in her hair; he is desperate to ground himself. She licks her lips, then leans forward to lick a line up his cock, tasting his precome with a satisfied noise. He throws his head back - if he keeps watching this, he will come all over her face before she has even started. 

Next he feels wet heat enveloping his hardness, pushing down slowly and rising with even more pressure up. This feels so much better than anything he has ever felt before. "Ohhhhhfuck. Yes, fuck, shit, yesssssss."

Both hands are firmly wrapped in her hair now as she bobs up and down, faster and faster, curling her tongue around the head of his cock and then plunging down as far as she can. "Don't stop." He sighs with pleasure. 

She increases suction, then pushes his cock into her throat until he can feel her swallowing around him. "Good girl. God, that's good." He can't control the words coming from his mouth, but apparently she likes them, because she moans.

The wet heat, the feeling of her throat moving around him, and her moan combined throw him over the edge. His skin is on fire, thrusting erratically into her mouth as his cum spills down her throat. She swallows it all down, lickig him clean and the sight almost makes him come again. 

They both breathe deeply for a moment before, Steve struggling to regain his thoughts. The first thing he does is scoop Viola up, laying them both on the bed. He sprawls on his back, basking in the afterglow of what was likely his most intense orgasm ever, before turning toward Viola. She is curled on her side facing him, a soft smile gracing her features. He smiles back.

"Wow. That was amazing. Umm, I really really liked your painting the apartment idea, and I wanted to thank you and tell you, well, that I think you're pretty amazing...and now I'm lying naked on my bed and you're still clothed, and I think it's your turn, and that seems to tie in well with the whole 'thanking you' theme, except obviously I've never done...that...before, and..." he babbles. He doesn't know how to get out all of the wonderful things he wants to tell her about how much fun he's had since he's met her, and Steve is overcome with relief when she covers his mouth with her hand and he can finally stop.

Her smile widens. "Oh Steve. I'm happy you're happy. Now please' undress me and make me come." When she sees him open his mouth to question her, she shushes him. "I've really liked everything you've done so far. Keep going, and I'll tell you if there's something that doesn't work for me. Honestly, I'm more than halfway there already between looking at that body and how hot that blowjob was." She teases.

Never let it be said that Steven G Rogers won't accept a challenge. He had heard plenty about how to please women over the years, first from Bucky (so close, but so far away), then from the Commandos, and even a little from the internet. He wants to watch her come undone, to feel her writhe under his touch. He moves across the intervening space, placing a gentle hand on her cheek and guiding her to a kiss. 

The voracity with which she kisses back is intense; he realizes that she wants him as badly as he needed her only a moment ago. Her blatant need for him gives him a heady feeling, pushing him to find that spot behind her ear and bite down on it again. This time she rewards him with an arched back and a truly indecent moan. He does it again. 

Viola reaches her arms in between them to pull her shirt up and off before pulling him back down to her. "Please, Steve. I need you." Not five minutes after he has come and he is hard again, overwhelmed by the sexiness of her pleas for more. He kisses down her neck, running his hand up her ribs, moving it up to cup her breast as he kisses the top of the other. Seeing how responsive she is to his ministrations gives him the courage to reach around and (with an acceptable amount of fumbling) remove her bra. 

Oh, she is beautiful, and he tells her so, reveling in her gentle blush. He lowers his head to her breast, taking a nipple gently into his mouth and reveling in her breathy encouragement. He sucks harder, pulling back to gently bite, and her hand comes from nowhere to cup his head and keep it exactly where it is. 

He would love to take his time here, tasting every inch of her skin, but her voice speaks of urgency with every moan. His hand trails down her ribs, earning him a giggle and slight squirm as he discovers a ticklish spot, down to curve over her hip bone (where he places a kiss, and gets a different squirm), and finally teases the curls between her legs. Steve slides his torso down so he can see; he is, after all, a very visual man.

He quickly looks up at Viola before he proceeds; she smiles and gives him a nod. One finger gently parts her folds, silky and wet and warm. His other hand comes to join, stroking her open further. His thumb gently glides up to the button he's heard about, and a deep sigh from his partner tells him he's dead on. He massages her slowly, matching the speed of her hips as she rocks them into his hand, his other hand moving downwards. One finger slips easily into her wet passage, Viola's hips moving faster, her hands skittering along the sheets as he moves it in and out.

This is incredible. She feels so soft, so warm, slippery with wetness (even Steve knows this is a good thing). She smells...indescribable... earthy... he's not sure how to catalog it, but he does lean his face in close to her, breathing in her arousal. 

With his face so close he can't help but lean in for a taste, running his tongue from where one finger has switched to two sliding in and out of her, all the way up to her...clit. He takes his hand away and licks at her, circling his tongue around her spot. "Ohhh fuck, just like that." Viola's hips cant up to meet him, her roaming hands settling back into his hair. He smiles victoriously at the desperation he hears in her voice. 

Now he wants to make her come. His fingers speed up their pace as they plunge into her heat. His tongue circles, flicks, and strokes over her as he listens to her cries. No words come forth now, just a series of breathy moans, each one pitched higher and higher as she climbs toward her orgasm.

Steve loves this feeling- the power that flows through him at being able to make her feel something so intense. His erection is trapped under him as he lies on the bed, but he has forgotten it, so lost is he in her body. 

Steve lifts his head up, using his thumb again as he looks up at her. "Come for me, Viola. I want to watch you come." He presses down hard on her clit, curls his fingers inside of her, and watches as she explodes, muscles clenching his fingers and dousing him with wetness. Her eyes rolls back, mouth open, skin flushed, back arched. She cries out with such intensity. She is beautiful. 

Slowly she comes back to herself, his hands gently ceasing their work. He crawls back up the bed to lie by her side. Examining the fingers that were buried deep inside her moments ago, he sticks them in his mouth and tastes them. Hmm. He searches for adequate words to describe her taste. 

A groan interrupts his reverie. "Jesus, Steve, that was unbelievably hot. I can't even look at you doing that without wanting to jump you again."

He ducks his head and smiles. "I wouldn't be opposed to doing that again." He looks up at her, utterly debauched, and leans in for a gentle kiss.

Except, of course, the gentle kiss deepens into something else, and as he closes the space between their bodies, both of their attentions are drawn to his cock, still hard between them.

Viola looks down and then back up at him, shocked. "You're hard again! Umm...supersoldier powers in the bedroom? Is it always like this?"

Hmm. Erections are not yet something Steve can discuss with Viola without blushing. "I dunno, really. Just...touching you was really...so..." that's all he manages to convey. 

It seems to be enough, though, because she smiles, rolling her eyes. "Of course you're perfect in every way." She looks at him. "God, I wanna fuck you so bad." Well, his erection isn't going anywhere soon. He tries to look away, but her serious gaze pierces him. "You're not ready for that, though." She looks him over. "Nope, not yet. We'll talk about that later. For now, how do you feel about more of the same?" Her playful smile is back.

☆

Half an hour later Viola has coaxed him into sharing a shower ("I'm taking advantage of bathing while I can, you should too...see how this works?"). As they dry off, she suddenly gasps and smacks Steve's chest. "Hey! What was that for?" He gripes. Not that it hurt, but still...it was the principle of the thing. 

"We didn't have the sex talk! We just had unprotected sex, and I bet you don't even have condoms here, but you should never have unprotected sex with someone!" She seems genuinely peeved. 

"I'm...sorry? I get that there are lots of scary diseases out there, but you know I can't get any of them, right? You'll be fine." He tentatively places his hands on her sides.

She looks up at him exasperatedly. "Yeah, great, but sooo not the point. You should always use a condom, and talk with your partner, before the bodily fluid exchange. The next time you have sex, promise me you'll use a condom."

Something in his chest deflates a little. "You say that like it won't be you with me the next time I have sex." He fumbles the words for a moment. "Um. Are you...not planning on being here?" Suddenly his mind makes leaps to ten different scenarios, all featuring Viola leaving never to be seen or heard from again. 

"Oh. Well, I don't really want to assume...I dunno, that you're going to have me back over. Or that if you did, you'd want to do...that. I know it's not something you planned; you might regret it in the morning. Plus, aren't you all old timey religious and on the 'wait till marriage for sex' bandwagon?"

That dark pit in his chest relaxes somewhat when he realizes that she's as unsure of him as he is of her. "One, I reserve all religious discussions for the morning, since I know you'll never let it go once we start..." he smiles fondly at her. "Two, I still need your help painting the apartment. You backing out on me?"

Relief is clear on her face. "No way. You'll never do it right if I'm not here to fix things." 

"Good. Now that that's settled, come to bed."

They lie, entwined with each other, Viola wearing Steve's clothes for pajamas. He suspects he'll be sleeping well tonight.


	7. chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Thanks for reading, commenting, and giving kudos. I'm havingna lot of fun with this story. No smut here, but lots to come.
> 
> There's music mentioned in this chapter- song I.d. will be at the bottom. But if you're looking for something to listen to, I recommend Tigerlily by La Roux.
> 
> P.s. Steve's attitudes don't reflect my own- about religion, sex before marriage, any of it. I'm just trying to portray him with a realistic outlook. I can't believe that, after all he's seen and all that's happened, he'd still be all "there's only one god". Just doesn't jive for me.
> 
> Rant over. Enjoy!

Steve wakes in the morning gently, gradually coming to himself. He starts to stretch, and realizes that he's still entwined with Viola as they were when they fell asleep. And, looking at the sun peeking into the room from behind the curtains, they've been asleep for hours. 

Stunned, Steve stills his body so as not to wake her up. He can't quite believe that having a warm (soft, sweet smelling) body wrapped in his arms kept him from having nightmares. He thinks back to when he and Bucky used to share a bed. He slept so easily back then...his body was so different, his mind less troubled...but he newly remembers the comfort of having a bedmate. Oh, Bucky. You are desperately missed.

He glances down at Viola, still asleep. It's likely she'll want a few more hours of sleep, and he tries not to wake her, but he can't help gazing down at her sleeping form. Her curls snake wildly in all directions from her head, but her face is serene and restful.

Steve inches his arm out from under her, gently tucking the light blanket around her as his body retreats. He watches as she shifts momentarily, then settles. Quiet as he can, he grabs running clothes, closes his door, and heads down the hall. 

Out onto the street. He takes a different route for his run today, feeling unencumbered by the usual melancholy that follows him from his nightmares into waking. He revels in the early summer sun, not yet oppressive, enjoying the waves of light that greet him. 

His thoughts drift to the night before. Viola was exquisite, and he is filled with gratitude for how she eased the way. He never felt pressured or put upon, and he guesses that not many women would have been so gentle or graceful about his...reluctance. 

Well, now's the time to work all this out. What does he think about sex? Before the war he certainly knew where he stood. His mother's morals and his church had dictated that. Even back then, though, his opinion wasn't always the status quo- Bucky had certainly had no compunction about having sex before marriage. The war showed him a different side as well- so many men, so many good, God-fearing men, with wives back home, would go to the brothels in Europe. No one spoke of it as wrong, as breaking a commandment; the men all seemed to regard the behavior as fulfilling a need. Steve hadn't really felt to strongly on the subject; how could he when it didn't apply to his life?

Steve has spent enough time in this century to realize the scope of change. Sure, there are still people who believe in waiting until marriage to have sex, but he has seen society poke fun at them on more than one occasion. The Catholic church of this new era disappoints him, a little. He sees the way that people have changed, become whole and inclusive, and he revels in the equality that his own time lacked. The church seems to him to be more and more filled with hate and intolerance, as well as hypocrisy. He was shocked to discover that Purgatory no longer existed, and confused; if they could change such a basic tenant of what he knew growing up, did that strip the meaning from the rest of what he experienced growing up?

Times have definitely changed. He thinks back to a conversation he had with Viola a few weeks ago. 

☆

"Ugh, waiting until you're married to have sex is like the worst thing you could do to yourself!"

"Really? Why do you think so?"

"Oh don't get me started, I could rant for hours about this stuff." Their eyes met; Steve smiled. 

"Rant away, then."

"Well. It pretty much comes down to this: you can't ask for what you want from a partner when you don't know what you want." She is in full lecture mode now. "You can't marry someone who's sexually compatible with you if you don't know what that looks like. I think that religion can sometimes give people the message that it's wrong to want sex to be anything other than...plain, normal." He watches her ponder for a moment. "There are always these scandals where good, upstanding religious men are caught cheating on their wives, and I feel like religion plays a role there. In teaching men that they should want virginal, chaste wives, and then that any desires they have other than lights-off, plain old missionary are wrong, it's setting these marriages up for failure."

Steve stares at her for a moment. He's not sure he understands. She seems to realize this.

"Okay. If you wait until marriage to have sex, you won't know that you...have a foot fetish. Or like to be spanked. Or want to dress in women's lingerie." His eyebrows must reach his hairline- Viola certainly laughs at whatever expression is plastered on his face. "So you marry someone, and maybe later you do figure out that something's missing, and maybe you figure out your fetish...but you'll never tell your wife, cause she's a good woman and you feel ashamed. So you never get what you want out of your marriage, and maybe you even sneak around trying to get it somewhere else. Either way, it's unhealthy."

☆

At the time, Steve had been more concentrated on the mention of various...fetishes. He certainly wishes he had asked Viola about her own. 

Sex. Outside of marriage. Casual sex...that was what it was called, right? Maybe his outlook on sex changed when he realized he wasn't very likely to get married; he didn't even know if he would age normally, and anyone he married would be in constant danger, so that left....Natasha as a possible wife. Right. No, marriage wasn't in the cards anytime soon, if ever. 

So...sex? Steve is pretty sure that, as far as partners go, Viola is ideal. She doesn't want anything from him he isn't willing to give, and she's likely to give him a...tour, so to speak, of what sex can be like (it was she who described sex as a veritable smorgasbord of intimacy). He thinks that this wouldn't have been an issue if he hadn't been so sickly before the serum; surely he would have been married before the war. 

Sigh. He feels less like this is a betrayal of his mother and her values, and more guilty that he's supposed to feel that way, and doesn't. It's not hard to remember his mother (and miss her), but it is hard to reconcile the memory of her with the world around him. Society is different, religions are different, women are certainly different. He doesn't have to ask himself What Would Bucky Do- he knows. 

Steve heads towards Sam so he can pick him up and run their bit together. He prays that Sam asks no questions about beautiful brunettes currently sleeping in his apartment. 

☆

When Steve enters his apartment, he has to check for a moment that he's in the right one. Loud, strange music streams through the doorway and overwhelms him. He hesitantly follows the music to its source as a woman sings about people calling her by the wrong name. He peeks into the kitchen, and what he sees changes his mood instantly to happy. 

Viola is there, his laptop open on a counter and blaring out music. Every other counter top is covered in pots and pans, food, flour. Viola stands in the middle of it all, mixing something at the stove, turning to knead what looks like bread, pulling plates from a cabinet, and dancing all the while. "That's not my name, that's not my name" she sings. 

She moves with grace, but so quickly and efficiently that he sees her as the eye of a tornado, sweeping the food around in its path, all the while accompanied by, seriously, loud and strange music. She bounces around, shaking her hips to the beat, and her raw enthusiasm and joy make him laugh out loud.

Viola shrieks and turns, hand on her heart. "Jesus, Steve, you scared the crap outta me!" 

He laughs harder, letting his face relax into a deep grin. "I'm not surprised you didn't hear me come in. Are you trying to deafen yourself with that music?"

She rolls her eyes, hands already back at work stirring, chopping, and kneading. "Pfft, whatever, old man." She grins back at him to show she's not really offended. "I've already ruined my hearing. Music is only great when it's so loud you can't hear anything else. Plus..." she moves her fingers and hands together in an Indecipherable pattern. 

Steve raises an eyebrow. "Sign language, I presume?"

"You betcha. I'm all set if I ever go deaf."

"Smart ass. Where'd you learn to sign?"

Her smile fades. "Oh, it was a long time ago." Her response is too airy for the sad expression on her face. "Hey, I'm making breakfast! I hope you're hungry." She pastes a smile on her face, turning back to the food on the stove. "This should all be done in about ten minutes. Why don't you hop in the shower while we're waiting?"

Steve nods, heading towards the bathroom as, from his computer, a different woman yells about how much she loves rock n roll.

☆

After Steve has recovered from the feast Viola laid out for them (not to say he didn't eat it- he needs a lot of food), he sits up a bit, ready to get to work. 

"What's the painting plan? I'm guessing you have some ideas in mind."

Viola lights up with enthusiasm. "Today we sketch, plan, and tape. Tomorrow we start painting. It's going to take a few days to finish, though." She looks to Steve. He nods his approval. "I have an...idea for your bedroom that I'd like to explore. I figured you could do the living room?" 

"I trust you." At his declaration, he watches her smile grow. 

"Those two areas most need to be painted. I don't know if you want to do the spare bedroom or not, but I got enough paint for it." 

That makes him think. He got a two bedroom apartment for a reason; he wants Bucky to have someplace to come home to. If he ever gets that far. If he ever wants to be found. Steve used to think that he did; now he's not so sure. Why else would he be in D.C. but not near Steve? He pushes his frustration down. Today he has an opportunity to do something to make himself happy, and maybe even Bucky. "I'd like to do the other bedroom. But I wouldn't mind your help with it."

Her smile is flirtatious. "I'm always glad to help." She says with a wink. "Okay, let's get going, then!"

They pull the furniture away from the walls, then wash them down. Viola sets Steve up in the living room with directions ("remember, you're going to look at this every day. Make it uplifting, ok?"), then retreats into the bedroom ("don't look, I want it to be a surprise!").

He stands still for a moment, staring at the wall. Not many parts of his life have been uplifting. His childhood in Brooklyn, Europe in the war, the battle of New York...all pretty dark. But as he ponders, he thinks of good moments: going to Coney Island with Bucky; the Commandos gathered round a fire, telling dirty jokes; shawarma with the Avengers. He knows what he wants on these walls.

He comes to himself a few hours later when his stomach rumbles. He's been so deeply entrenched in sketching out his ideas that he hadn't realized how much time had passed. Now he sees that it is lunch time, and as he steps back to see what he's done, he realizes he's covered almost all of the walls. Stunned, he takes a moment to shake himself out of his art coma. 

As he lets the world back in, he hears (loud, of course) music coming from his bedroom. Viola is singing along to a woman's voice, electronic notes filling the background. He sneaks closer, knowing she doesn't want him to see (he doesn't even try to look, hand to God). He just wants to see if he can catch another glimpse of her, singing and dancing like this morning. 

He inches the door open. There she is, leaning close to the wall, her hand moving in graceful arcs. She leans back to get some perspective, swaying her hips from side to side, her back arching sensually with each sway. 

"I can see you burning with desire for a kiss..." she harmonizes with the woman singing. 

Mindful of the surprise, he reaches into the room, grabs Viola's hand, and pulls her out into the hallway, flush with his body. It nearly resembles a dancer spinning his partner back to himself.

Although her surprise comes out in the form of an awkward yell as he grabs her hand, by the time they are standing face to face, she has regained her composure, a smile on her lips. She places her palms on his chest and continues dancing.

"Dance with me, Steve. I love this song!" She sways from side to side, pulling him along with her awkwardly, but she doesn't seem to notice as she picks the words back up again. 

He stands there, allowing her to sway him, resting his hands on her hips as the undulate. He has no idea how people dance in this century; how can he have lived here for two years and not ever gone somewhere where people were dancing?

"I don't know how to dance like this. You'll have to teach me."

Still dancing, she laughs up at him, eyes shining. "Do whatever you want! That's the fun part. You just move to the beat, any way you want. No one's watching."

Well. He is nothing if not a capable improviser (skills on a battlefield translate to the rest of life, right?). He steps from side to side, getting a feel for the beat. As he starts to move, Viola steps back, twirling herself around unself-consciously. Her eyes are closed as she moves, mouthing the words. "I can see you burning with desire for a kiss..." she sings the chorus again. Her eyes snap open as the song winds down to its end. 

"The point of dancing is to have fun, Muscles. Let go, move around, enjoy the music, be silly!" She says with a grin. "No one here but us, and I won't judge." The next song comes on, and she oohs in approval, moving her body faster this time.

"Fuck and kiss you both at the same time..." she sings with a wink in Steve's direction. He steps to the beat of the song, rolling his eyes good-naturedly at her. He wraps a hand around her waist and spins the two of them in a circle. A man sings about wanting to kill his lover as a banjo plays in the background.

"This is some strange music you're listening to, you know that?" Their faces are close as they move and sway and spin to the beat.

"Pfft. This stuff is awesome. Just because it's not Big Band...okay, you probably would need some context for this particular band." She goes from playfully dismissive to thoughtful. "Actually, has anyone caught you up on the music you missed while you were..." she breaks off. It's obvious she doesn't know what happened to him. He can't blame her for not keeping up with what the media has said about him since his return.

"Frozen in ice." He helpfully supplies. 

She looks impressed at that. "Okay. Has anyone caught you up on music since you did a bad impression of an ice cube?"

He must never introduce her to Tony- the 'Capsicle' jokes would only multiply. "Clint and Tony gave me some recommendations, but since I moved down here, well..."

She nods. "Yeah, I imagine it's not as fun without someone to talk to about what you're listening to." She perks up. "Great! That means I get to educate you." 

If ever Viola could have an 'evil mastermind' face, that was it. Steve isn't at all sure what he is agreeing to, but thinks it will be fun as long as he's with Viola. He picks her up and whirls her through the air, her head back, reveling in the feeling. On his computer someone is still singing about ways to kill his lover, and Steve laughs as he sets her back down, close this time. He pushes the curls back from her face.

"You're something else, you know that?" He says affectionately. Before she can answer, he uses the hand in her hair to tilt her head up, capturing her soft lips with his own. A moment passes in breaths and the movement of mouth against mouth. He pulls back, finding her eyes with his own.

"C'mon, it's my turn to fix a meal, and I'm hungry." Wrapping a hand around her waist, he leads her into the kitchen.

☆

The evening had started out with both artists being satisfied by their labors for the day. Viola had stepped out to bring a meal to the same friend as yesterday, homeless and having a hard time. Steve urged her to bring the man food from his pantry; he remembered being hungry all of the time, and it made him feel good to help someone else. Idly he wonders how crazy it would be to volunteer at a soup kitchen or homeless shelter. Would he be putting innocent people in danger?

He tries not to think too hard of the argument he had with Viola before she left. He had assumed, apparently, that she would stay at his apartment for a while ("see you when you get back" are the actual words that set things off). She was, apparently, perfectly capable of taking care of herself and didn't need his charity (and he knows that, he does). Steve can't say that there's nothing to her accusation that he wants to make the hardships in her life go away; that much is true. He has money, plenty of it, and he could help her. 

But honestly, that's not what he had been thinking about when he wanted her to stay. He had been thinking of painting, and kissing, and the way he slept so soundly (and maybe about sex). He just wanted more of Viola. Of course, that thought got all jumbled when he tried to get it out, and only made things worse.

Steve finds himself, hypocritically, cursing someone else for their pride and stubbornness. He knows firsthand how important it is to be able to take care of yourself, especially when times are hard. The idea of being coddled or pandered to, well...

Ugh. In this way they are apparently too much alike. She had left, thankfully before Steve could further stick his foot in his mouth by telling her that he wants her to stay so they can have sex. Even he (eventually) realized how much that sounded like prostitution in exchange for a place to stay. Still, she had left, and he really didn't know if she was coming back. She probably was. Maybe. 

Steve settles down on the couch with his computer and googles the musicians Viola was playing earlier on...Pandora. First he figures out what that is. Then he watches some videos on YouTube. It does not help him think of this music as normal. Oh well. It gives him (potentially) some insight into popular culture. 

After Steve has clicked around the Internet from one site to another until he is reading some news article he doesn't really care about, he (finally!) hears Viola coming in the door. 

He doesn't want to startle her, so he sort of freezes instead. She takes her shoes off and puts her bag down, eventually looking up at him. He hates the blank look he sees on her face. Closing the laptop, he stands, smiling rather awkwardly at her, too nervous himself to put her at ease.

"Hey." Oh goody, more awkward.

"Hey, Steve." She sighs.

"Is your friend alright?" He knows he is stalling.

"Eh. Same as ever, which isn't very good. Poor guy just sits there, doesn't talk or move much. I'd get him some help if I thought he wouldn't run. Still, at least he's eating. That's something."

Steve is reminded that a lot of people (like Bucky) have actual problems to deal with. He isn't afraid of much, and a conversation isn't on that list (ice and losing Bucky again might be). "I just wanted to clear things up, a bit. I promise you can say whatever you want or get mad or leave, but hear me out first." He looks unflinchingly into her eyes; she nods.

He takes a deep breath. "Ok. I've been thinking about this since you left, and what I don't think I conveyed to you was...you're the prize." She looks at him quizzically, so he rushes to finish the thought. "I get that you want to take care of yourself, and you can't pay me back for staying here. But I owe you." Now her eyebrows are sky high. He smiles. "You don't get it, do you? I'm sorry I'm not explaining this right.

"I wasn't happy, when I met you." Now as he speaks he's deep in thought. "You came into my life and woke me up, got me to be a human being again, and I owe you for that. Because I'm happy, now. When you leave, I'll be okay because I'm happy now, and I wasn't before, so I owe you." He smiles up at her as he pauses; he's not altogether sure what the expression on her face means.

"Okay. Like I said, I'm just trying to pay back my debt by making life a little easier for you -not that you need it!" He hastily equivocates. "-but mostly I'd like you around to spend time with. So. I have an idea. What do you say you go ahead and keep that key I gave you. I know you're not going to stay in town forever," he smiles at her with a hint of sadness, "but if you have the key, you can stop by whenever you're here. And I'll be happy 'cause I get to see you. Whaddya think?"

He looks at her, for once staying silent and still and letting Viola come to her own conclusions. She looks at him. Her face is still, pensive, sad, nostalgic by turns. She takes a breath in, life flowing across her features as she slowly walks to Steve.

"You know what? I'm a jerk. I shouldn't have let my issues get me so far into crazyville, and I'm sorry for that. I love your idea. I feel honored that you'd give me a key permanently, and I'm definitely taking you up on the offer."

Her arms slowly slip around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug that he enthusiastically returns. Satisfied, he breathes a sigh of relief, resting his head on her shoulder. If he happens to turn face into her neck for a few kisses, well...no one's the wiser.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music notes:
> 
> The Ting Tings- that's not my name
> 
> Joan Jett- I love rock n roll
> 
> La Roux- Tigerlily
> 
> Scissor sisters- I can't decide


	8. Chapter 8 part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thanks for reading, kudos, comments. All of it makes my day! I really like this chapter, but it's...massive. so in order to do it justice, I had to split it up. 
> 
> There's a new POV in here. Please tell me if you like it- or hate it! Or if it is ruining the story and should disappear. I'm adding some new tags, please note them. They shouldn't be surprising. Ok, I'm off to finish pt 2, which means I need to go write some smut.

Steve and Viola are lying on his bed, basking in the endorphins gained going down on each other. Viola stretches luxuriously, turning on her side to face Steve, a satisfied smile on her face.

"So...it's funny timing, you giving me a key." She says, still blissed out and cuddly.

He quirks an eyebrow at her, silently signaling for her to continue as he turns to face her, hand supporting his head. She hesitates for a moment, but Steve knows Viola well enough to know that she's not afraid of saying what's on her mind.

"It's funny because I've got work lined up on Monday, up in Vermont. So, you know, I won't see you for a few weeks, but now, I could come back." She smiles, seemingly happy about the prospect, and a little lost in thought. He imagines it's a novel idea for her, to have some sort of anchor.

Steve tries to distract himself from the disappointment that surges through his chest at the thought of her leaving. "What will you be doing up in Vermont?"

She waves her hand airily. "Oh, you know, summer camp." 

This is not what he expected at all, and Viola laughs at the surprise plastered across his face. "Wilderness summer camp, to be more specific." He still looks at her blankly. 

"You know, I start riding trains, end up some weird places, sometimes in the middle of nowhere, and I realize how much I don't know about surviving. So I start learning, pick up some tricks, and eventually I realize there are all these nature schools, all over the country, teaching kids this shit. So I found one willing to pay me under the table, got a job as a camp counselor," she makes a silly face at him, "and I learn new skills and get paid a little. Now I'm really good, I can run a whole camp by myself, they still pay me under the table, it's a sweet set up."

Steve is still pondering, but she obviously expects some kind of response, so he says "wow, I didn't know that camps like that were...a thing."

She nods. "Yeah, definitely not the world I grew up in, either." He perks up a little at another mention of her past. "But these kids are really cool. And it's a ton of fun, getting all covered in mud and stalking each other through the woods." The grin on her face is irrepressible; disappointed as he is that she won't tell him more about her history, he loves to see something make her so happy. 

"Well then, you'll have to show me sometime."

"You bet your ass I will. It's a plan." She winks. 

Viola runs her fingers through Steve's hair, commenting on its softness. He closes his eyes, basking in the contact, feeling her body heat next to him, smelling her floral scent. 

He has always known she wouldn't stay forever. He has, but it still hurts a little, wishing that she wanted to stay with him. He comforts himself with the hope (he won't say it's a certainty, not until it happens) that she will return.

Eventually he curls her in his arms, wrapping them tightly together, his face buried in her hair, making the most of the time he has left.

☆ ☆ ☆

These are the things that Steve does while Viola is gone:

He runs. Sometimes he runs with Sam, sometimes by himself. On days he misses her, he runs through the park and by the grove of trees that will, in his mind, forever belong to her. He runs new routes as well, trying to see things through her eyes, wondering what she would say. He notices people more, nods at the men and women he sees every day, greets them with a 'good morning'. 

He remembers this from his youth; knowing everyone in the neighborhood, knowing everyone's business. All of those people he knew are dead now, but he is still here. He is ashamed at the idea of a Steve Rogers so closed off from the world that he doesn't know who lives around him. Society has changed, and he certainly was injured, depressed, and distracted by Bucky, but Steve won't give up on the things that he knows. Even if it's saying hello to the shopkeeper next door to his building. 

☆

He goes to the VA with Sam, and he goes to group. He sits and listens, for the most part, wanting to know what war is like today (or for someone not gifted with a serum in his veins). He is astounded by the bravery of the people surrounding him. He marvels at Sam's skill in comforting the men and women around him, in coaxing the traumatized soldier to speak a few words, in creating a safe space for them to talk. 

He doesn't speak much, but he does one day, after a brutal night of nightmares about Bucky and falling and cold water. 

"I forget, sometimes, that I died. Obviously it didn't stick, but...I know what it feels like to die." He stares at his feet for a moment. "Isn't that supposed to change a person? You're supposed to learn a valuable lesson on what life is, and live your life to the fullest, or do the things you were afraid to do before. I haven't done any of that. I haven't really lived at all since I woke up." He can barely push those last words out, as if hearing them spoken will break him in some way. Fuck.

He is silent for a moment, swallowing down the lump in his throat. 

"I'm not sure what lesson I was supposed to learn, or why I'm still here. I thought I was supposed to fight, to save people, but now I just don't know anymore. I got a second chance at life, and sometimes I think that 20-year-old me would kick my ass for wasting it." There is more to say, more words that are running through his head, but it is enough for now. 

After group two men and a woman take the time to quietly come up to Steve and thank him for his words. Sam, too, quietly and soberly approaches him to thank him. "I know your circumstances were pretty different than these guys, and you've gone through a lot, but some of them really needed to hear what you just said. You may be the only one trapped in ice for seventy years, but a lot of them feel exactly the same as you."

Steve nods, not yet ready to speak, but still feeling as if finally some of the darkness inside is dissipating. 

☆

Steve volunteers at soup kitchens and homeless shelters, battered women shelters and the like. He worries that his presence might bring the press now that SHIELD's files are out there in cyberspace, so he moves from one place to the next, always keeping a low profile. He won't let fear keep him from doing what is right, and he finally has the time, the money, and the health to help others out the way he has always wanted to. Some days he is overwhelmed by the sheer impossibility of helping all those in need; some days he finally feels like he's accomplishing something good in a way he never felt working for SHIELD. 

He looks for Bucky, always, because he can't not look, but he knows in his heart that these places are far too vulnerable for the Winter Soldier. He sees Bucky's face the way it was in the footage at the Smithsonian; covered by a beard, a little gaunt. He sees Bucky in every person he meets.

☆ 

He looks for Bucky; Sam and he check the police logs for anything that might be him. Break-ins, petty thefts, fights...larger crimes...Steve can't help but hope that Bucky is still around. That his coming back, showing up at the Smithsonian, meant something. They have no international spy organization to rely upon for intel anymore, but Fury is the keeping Hydra on the run, and for that Steve is grateful. They can't be trying to capture Bucky when they're running for their lives. 

Steve also reads: books on PTSD, for himself and for Bucky; books about art, for himself; books to teach himself Russian; he reads Bucky's file again and again and this time looks up every victim. He wants to see their faces, imagines that these are people he has killed. Imagines how it feels. He reads books on brainwashing and becomes frustrated quickly. None of the books say what happens to someone brainwashed and frozen and tortured over seventy years, but the outcome doesn't seem positive.

He plans, a million times in his head, what he will say to Bucky when he finds him. Nothing is ever quite right. Everything sounds contrived, or insensitive, or stupid. But every night before he falls asleep he lays in bed, lights off, and talks to Bucky.

☆

He takes food to Viola's friend while she is away. He is always happy to keep someone else from starving (he remembers not having enough to eat too vividly), and it reminds him of her. 

He walks into an abandoned warehouse, making sure to make noise as he walks so he doesn't surprise the man. He makes his selections carefully; some fresh fruit, more nonperishable items, a few treats, some toiletries, matches, etc. As he enters the darkened building, he can feel the presence of another person. Actually, he can smell the man, unwashed as he must be. 

Tempted as he is to see this person, offer him help, he does just as Viola has instructed. He leaves the food in the place she had described, slowly leaving the way he came. He hopes that, once the man gets used to seeing a new face, he will show himself. 

☆

He draws. He paints. He even designs some pieces of graffiti (though he doesn't put them up, just lays them aside to show Viola when she comes back). He draws, for the first time, Bucky's face as the Winter Soldier. He draws the cold, dead eyes, the still, blank mouth, the unwashed hair. He draws the metal arm, complex and deadly. He sees in his mind, over and over, his best friend saying "who the hell's Bucky."

He draws Bucky until he looks at what he has drawn and wants to punch through a wall.

Then he goes and trains, with Sam and, when she finally returns, with Natasha. He trains until he's too exhausted to think about anything anymore.

☆ ☆ ☆

Before she leaves, Steve and Viola paint in a mad rush to finish decorating their respective rooms. 

Steve finishes first. The South wall of his living room shows the streets of Brooklyn, hazy and indistinct but alive with activity. The West wall shows Europe. It's probably an amalgamation of a million different countrysides he saw during the war, but it makes him think of the Commandos sitting around a fire together. The North wall shows a shawarma restaurant, wrecked but still standing, bringing to mind trust and cooperation and laughter. He stands in the center of it all, sweaty and covered in paint, and feels victorious.

He heads to his bedroom, knocking loudly on the closed door. He can hear Viola on the other side, singing "I could be brown, I could be blue, I could be violet sky..." As he knocks again, he can hear her scramble over to the door, ineffectually trying to keep the door closed against him. "I'm not done yet!" She shrieks.

"Then quit dancing and get painting. I wanna see my room already!" He jokes, smilingly. 

"Fine, fine. I'm really close. Go take a shower or order dinner or cook dinner or something so I can finish."

"I'm going. Now hurry up!" He chuckles as he hears her back away from the door.

 

One shower and a call to House of India later, Steve is surreptitiously listening at the door (again). No music emanates from the room this time; instead he hears Viola talking to herself as she paints. Grinning from ear to ear, Steve knocks again, eager to hear her squeaks of outrage at art being constrained by mundane things like time. 

Instead, she opens the door and steps out, cutely speckled in paint, her hair an explosion on the top of her head. She sighs. "I think I'll start fucking it up if I keep at it, so I might as well call it done."

Steve looks at her, concerned. "You know I'm joking, right? You don't have to finish now. You can have all night, we're sleeping in the other bedroom anyway."

Viola squints at him, contemplating. She deflates a little. "No," she replies, "it's done. I just...want it to be exactly what's in my head, you know? Even if that's not realistic."

Steve nods understandingly. "I'll help you stop your crazy cycle of perfectionism, never fear." He picks her up by the armpits, moving her out of the way, and slides inside the room before she can stop him, her hands pulling on his wrist a second too late.

As he stands in the center to get a good look, Viola chases after him. "Let me explain how it's supposed to be..." Steve pulls her to his chest, clapping a hand over her mouth and shushing her. She squirms for a moment, then relaxes into his arms.

He looks, quietly, turning to see every bit. It is perfect. 

From here, he feels like he is sitting on a bench in a park. The walls are filled with children running, women talking, old men playing chess. Pigeons and squirrels, songbirds and butterflies dart in and out of trees and grass. The sun peeks down through trees, spreading dappled sunlight over all. Buildings float over the trees in the distance, and Steve feels Brooklyn in every brushstroke, so real he can taste it and hear it.

She has even painted the ceiling. The perfect light blue of a hot summer day shines down on him. 

Steve is struck hard by how badly he wants to show this to Bucky. And, simultaneously, how badly he wants this to be his haven, hidden from everyone else. He is hit with a wave of nostalgia so hard he flinches, hugging Viola harder. He knows she must be impatient by now to know what he thinks, but he doesn't want to stop looking. Instead, he kisses the crown of her head, her temple, her ear. He turns her in his arms, pulling her into a proper hug, resting his head on top of hers.

They stay like this for a long moment, breathing deeply and holding each other as Steve takes in the details of her work. 

They both jump when the door buzzer goes off. "Right. Dinner's here." He mutters, extricating himself from her grasp to let the delivery person up.

Eventually they sit, cross-legged on the floor, and tell each other everything they love about the other's work.

She hops a train the next morning.

☆ ☆ ☆

These are the things they do the first time Viola comes back:

All of the things he did while she was gone. He runs, volunteers, learns Russian (Viola enthusiastically joins him), and draws. He even goes with her to deliver food to her friend; the man still won't come out of hiding while Steve is there. 

Viola laughs when Steve suggests joining him on his run, and stands them both up so she can demonstrate just how much longer his leg is than hers. But when she tags along with him when he goes to spar with Sam, she doesn't laugh at his idea of teaching her how to fight.

Okay, that idea might have been motivated by the fact that, not knowing if or when she might return, Viola scared the bejezus out of Steve crawling into his bed in the middle of the night. Steve was able to avoid hurting her (barely), but it only got him thinking about her being in dangerous situations, far away where he couldn't help. He pictures her accosted by men twice her size, unable to get away. 

So Sam and Steve teach her the basics, setting her up at a punching bag while they spar. She likes it so much that she makes sure to come with him from then on. She watches the men spar, cheerfully encouraging Steve to kick Sam's ass, then bantering with Sam when he accuses her of favoritism. 

☆

They head out of the city, Viola wanting to day hike the Appalachian Trail. Steve is surprised at how easily she keeps pace with him, climbing up a steep mountainside. She moves quietly, her usual banter or commentary or songs given over to a peace that he can see radiates bone deep. When they reach the top they lie, basking in the sunlight. A few kisses may be exchanged. 

Suddenly Viola sits up, a mischievous glint in her eye.

"Wanna play a game?" She stares intensely into his eyes, as if willing him to say yes.

"What kind of game?" He replies, honestly curious (and always a little bit suspicious).

She smiles. Steve can't help but think of The Grinch. Plotting. "Hide and go seek. You give me ten minutes, no peeking and no listening, then try to find me."

"Ten minutes? You could be halfway down the mountain by then."

She rolls her eyes at his blatant exaggeration. "I don't cheat! I promise to hide on the mountain top. You just give me the time I need." Her poker face is disturbingly good. 

Steve can't help but feel as if he's being fleeced. He can't see how, though. He has super senses after all, and he's an experienced soldier. He shrugs. "Okay, you're on. Ten minutes."

Viola walks over to him, a big smile on her face, and strips out of her long sleeved shirt so that she can tie it around Steve's head. He momentarily mourns the sight of her body in only a tight tank top, but the shirt smells deliciously of her, and he finds he doesn't mind at all. He feels her take his phone from his pocket and, after a few seconds, place it in his hands. He settles down to wait.

Ten minutes later his phone is buzzing in his hands and he is impatiently pulling off his makeshift blindfold. He stands, stretches, allows his eyes to adjust to the bright sunlight. He starts looking around, not wanting to ruin the game by finding her too quickly. 

Okay, scratch finding her too quickly. It's been half an hour, and there's no sign of her at all. He has checked in trees, and behind rocks and in bushes and every place he would choose to hide. He is torn between worrying that something happened to her and thinking that she cheated and she's not on the mountain top at all. That's it. He gives up.

"All right, Viola. Come on out. You win, I can't find you." He shouts into the trees. He steps back, turning in a circle so he can see where she hid. If she's there at all.

He hears a giggle. 

Over by a tall pine, there's a pile of rocks and debris. He walks closer, looking for her. Suddenly, he sees the whites of her eyes.

Viola is looking right at him. Covered in mud, leaves, and dirt. Disguised as part of the pile. He laughs in relief and appreciation (and maybe guilt for thinking she might cheat). She stands, shaking sticks, leaves and dirt off of herself as he nears her.

"Okay. I'm impressed. I'm really impressed, actually. Don't tell Sam how bad you beat me, he'll never shut up about it." He grins at her.

Viola bows jokingly. "Why thank you, Steve. Now come give me a big hug!" She chases him, shuffling like a zombie and threatening him with the world's muddiest embrace. They both laugh as he backs away. He could easily outrun her, of course, but he'd much rather let her catch him.

"Oh, what the hell." He exclaims, and turns toward her, allowing her filthy arms to rub their dirt onto him as they wrap around his neck. Cold, slimy mud on his skin makes him shiver. He smiles down at Viola, her face tilted up to him with a matching smile. 

"Super soldier or not, I totally kicked your ass this time." She grins. "Remember that. I know you worry about me, traveling around all by my lonesome," she affects a southern drawl. He huffs a laugh. Her eyes turn serious. "Seriously, though. I'm not super powered and I can't fight..." 

"yet." He interjects with a nod.

"...yet. But you don't need to worry about me. I really can take care of myself." 

The message is clear. Steve takes a moment to look at her, face grave, brown eyes focused on him. "You're right. I care about you, so I worry, but truthfully I know that you can take care of yourself."

Her smile is deep and relaxed. She stretches up onto her tiptoes to press a chaste kiss to his lips.

"C'mon, let's go wash the mud off." She exclaims, pulling him down the mountain. 

As he watches her splash into into the first stream they come across, stripping off her clothes and laughing in delight, he thinks that he might love her.

☆

Later that night he gets Viola out of her clothes and lays her down on the bed, holding her wrists while he kisses every inch of her body he can reach. He loves hearing the different sounds she makes, the sighs, the moans, the swears that slip out of her mouth when she is overcome by the sensations he gives her. He loves her soft skin, her lush curves, the way she squirms and writhes but doesn't try to break his grip.

As he settles back over her, hips aligned, mouth plundering hers, he thinks how easy it would be to slip inside her from here. His cock positively aches at the thought of being buried deep inside of the woman beneath him. He can't help but grind himself down on her to relieve some tension. So close to her warm, wet heat...

Oh god. He has to stop before...

Wait. He doesn't have to stop at all. Steve is the one that is waiting until he's ready (Viola has made plenty clear how ready she is for sex with Steve). Is he ready? 

He must have stopped moving, because Viola is saying something.

"Sorry, what?"

She looks curious. "Where'd you go, babe?"

Well, now's the time to talk about this. "Honestly, I was wondering if I'm ready for sex."

She groans, pushing her hips up to meet his. She obviously approves of the idea. "Mmm. Steve, I can't answer that question for you. You tell me. You don't have to make a decision tonight, you know."

He smiles, leaning down to press kisses along her jaw. He's not going to overthink this. "Okay. I'll tell you. I'm ready to have sex with you."

Viola pulls back (as much as she can with him pressing her into the bed), looking Steve in the eyes. They have a silent conversation as he bares his thoughts through his baby blues. 

Her lips find his in a breathless kiss, and she pulls him closer. "Okay." Their hips grind together again. "It's your first time. Any thoughts on how you'd like to do this?"

His tongue darts into her mouth, rekindling the fire. "Mmm. How about exactly like this?" Now that he knows he is going to be inside her, heat and want travel up his spine.

He moves his hand to her breast, his head coming down to tease her nipple as her back arches. "Yes! God, don't stop... but yes, lets do it like this." He gently pulls at her nipple with his teeth, and words seem to leave her.

This is it. He is finally going to bury himself inside her. He groans. Hot desire runs through him, and he doesn't want to wait any longer. He can't wait any longer. 

"Do we need a condom here?" He gasps as he kisses his way back up Viola's neck, finally sliding their tongues together with a hum.

It takes her a moment to detach enough to reply breathlessly. "We've already swapped germs, and I can't get pregnant, so we're good."

What? He files that away for later, when he's not so fucking turned on he might die. Instead he skims his hand down, over her hip and between her legs. She arches against him as he circles his thumb over her clit, reaching his fingers down to find her deliciously wet. She is ready, and she tells him as much. 

Holy shit, is he really about to do this? He has a momentary feeling of detachment from reality. Then he looks up at Viola. She lies under him, hair going every which way, cheeks flushed, lips red and swollen from kissing. He leans down to kiss her and he takes himself in hand. 

Viola tilts her hips up to his as his cock meets her body for the first time. He fumbles for a moment with the angle before sliding in deep. A gasp leaves his lips at the same time. Oh. Oh good Lord this feels like heaven. He tries hard not to slam into her again and again because all he can feel is silky heat wrapped around his dick and he never wants to leave.

"Steve." 

His eyes must have closed at some point but now he opens them and looks down at the beautiful woman before him. As their eyes meet she smiles, tilting her lips up to kiss him even as her hips push up to meet his.

Movement. Movement is amazing. He pulls his hips back and pushes into her slowly with a groan. Yes. To his pleasure Viola groans too. 

He has to make this good for her. He thrusts again, torn between wanting to watch her reactions and the delicious sensations flooding his body. Again. More.

Heat spirals up from the base of his spine with each thrust, and he angles himself inside her with minute adjustments until...there. She grabs his arms, gasping with pleasure, and he needs to keep doing that. He needs never to stop. He feels her everywhere, her skin against his, her body warm under and around his. This new way of fitting together leaves him breathless.

He knows he won't last. He can feel his orgasm building inside of him, but he wants Viola to come first. So he bites down on the sensitive spot on her neck before whispering in her ear. "Touch yourself." 

She shudders as she snakes a hand between their bodies to circle her clit. His next thrust is harder, deeper, and...god. They rock together over and over, eyes meeting, mouths gasping for air, then meeting for sloppy, filthy kisses. This is so different than anything he's ever felt before. 

He can't keep this up much longer. It feels too good. The movement of their hips speeds up, and he can feel Viola's legs tense where they are wrapped around his waist. 

"Come for me, sweetheart." He says, taking her mouth in a deep kiss.

And she does. Her legs squeeze him closer, cries pour from her mouth, each one pitched higher than the last. The tension in her body reaches its height as her back arches, throat bared to him. Finally she falls, eyes rolling back in her head, her cries of release louder still as her body shudders.

Steve feels the tight heat surrounding his cock spasm around him, and it only takes one, two more thrusts before he is coming, pumping his release deep into Viola as pleasure overtakes his body. 

He comes back to himself slowly, still buried deep inside of her. He realizes she has been running her fingers through his short hair, waiting for his brain to come back online. When he finally gathers the strength to lift his head and look down at her, she smiles up at him. "So. First time and all, what'd you think?"

With a smile and a groan, he rests his face in the crook of her neck. "Can we never leave this room ever again?" He kisses her neck where his lips have landed but is far too lazy to move to kiss her further. 

Soft hands stroke up and down his back. Steve practically purrs. "Glad you liked it." Viola chuckles. "Too bad we need to get cleaned up." 

Steve whines. "Nooooo. Staying here forever, remember?"

She lightly tickles his sides. "Come on, Captain Lazy. If you get up now I'll give you a blowjob in the shower."

Suddenly he's sitting. "Allright, shower it is."

☆

They curl together after their shower, naked and happy and ridiculously cozy. Steve kisses Viola on the back of her neck.

"I love you." He whispers.

She stiffens. Turns to face him with a sad look on her face. "Fuck you, Steve."

He is astonished. "What? Why would you say that? I just told you I love you!"

Viola sits up, leaning back against the headboard. "You don't love me. You love the feeling you had when we had sex. It's ridiculously cliché of you to pull this shit, you know."

Steve follows Viola up, sitting facing her. "Bullshit. Okay, I'm not gonna say I don't love having sex with you- I really, really do. But that's not what this is about."

He wants to go on, but she cuts him off with a hand on his shoulder. "Stop right there. You don't know me that well, Steve. We haven't spent enough time together for either of us to say that. You have feelings for me, and that's awesome, I care about you as well. But let's not pretend we've bared our souls, here. We've got a lot to learn about each other before we get to love. Alright?"

She caresses his cheek with a smile, trying to appease him. He gets where she's coming from, he does. And he wants to tell her that nothing he could find out about her would change his mind...

But she's right. He's not as idealistic as he used to be. The good guys don't always come out on top in this new world. 

"You're right." He smiles at her, trying to recapture the bliss he felt moments ago. "You're right." 

Viola sees him, sees his sadness, and pulls him in for sweet, chaste, comforting kisses as they settle back down for sleep.

★ ★ ★

I remember. I spend days remembering and there is no room left for anything else. For every one tiny moment of Steve, of Brooklyn, of the Howling Commandos, there are ten filled with blood. Excruciating pain. Freezing cold. Unfeeling, unflinching blindness. 

I no longer have the emotions to interpret these memories. I remember and I piece together what has happened to me, and that is all. 

If there is food around, I eat. Drink. Pee. For the first week or two I exercised my body the way I was taught to do on a long term mission. Then I remembered more and now...I do nothing. I no longer follow their rules, but I have no new rules to follow. No mission. No goals. No future. 

Each base I remembered I destroyed. No more, not ever again. They all died, every last person inside and every piece of equipment I recognized was destroyed.

I remember no new bases, now. There is nothing left to destroy, no one left to kill. Some days I contemplate killing myself. It would stop the memories. But then there is a good memory, and I wait for another.

I wonder when the good memories will run out and I will be left with nothing but pain. I will put a bullet in my brain then, when all the good is gone. I am patient.

I think sometimes of going to Steve. He would give me a purpose. A mission. But Steve wants James "Bucky" Buchanan Barnes, sharpshooter for the Howling Commandos and best friend for years. 

I am not that. I no longer know how to be that. When I was on a mission they would sometimes have me act, pretend to be someone else. That was long ago, before masks and goggles. I don't know how to act anymore. 

If I did I would become James "Bucky" Buchanan Barnes.   
Instead I sit. 

And remember.

 

★ ★ ★

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music: Mika, Grace Kelly.
> 
> Leave a comment letting me know how I did!


	9. Chapter 8 part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Sorry, I thought this was gonna get updated fast, bur then...birthday, and I'm in the middle of moving, and so...sorry. So we're moving tomorrow and then this week going camping so the next chap might take a little longer to get out, fair warning. 
> 
> Um. Also, thanks for the reviews, kudos, etc. Congats to debwalsh, you called it :). Big chapter, I'd love to hear what you think. (Even if it's 'you suck!' - I'd love concrit, too).

This is what Steve and Viola do the second time she comes back:

All of the things he does when she is gone. She decides to learn Russian with him, and it becomes a competition to see who can remember more. Viola of course makes things fun, which distracts Steve from the more sobering reasons that he is learning in the first place. He's not sure whether or not it's a good thing. 

They have sex. Lots and lots of sex. Steve loves seeing Viola come undone, and he especially loves the closeness that overwhelms him when they join their bodies. He takes her in every room in the house, unable to stop long enough to make it to the bed. Plus, he is strong enough to hold her up any way he wants. 

Pretty much all of the sex they have is amazing, for lots of different reasons. As Viola guides Steve through what she calls "the beginning stages of the All Kinds of Sex Tour," she encourages him to do whatever occurs to him in the moment. It has led to screaming orgasms at times, weirdness and giggles at others. He discovers that sucking on her toes is the worst sex torture (she can't decide if it's hot or if it tickles too much), that he is definitely an ass man (there is a joking conversation explaining what this is), and that shower sex is way more complicated than it sounds. The best part about it all is that Steve stops (okay, maybe not completely, but almost) feeling insecure and nervous about the subject of sex. 

☆

Viola introduces Steve to all the music he has missed. She goes chronologically, talking about the evolution of each genre over time, connecting the music to politics and society as history unfolds. She rolls her eyes when she sees how much he likes The Beach Boys, but he can tell she likes them, too, from the way she dances when they play. They both love Bob Marley. 

Steve likes some of The Beatles' music, while other songs (like those about walruses) are a little too strange. This leads to a discussion about acid trips. They listen to the Rolling Stones; Viola loves 'Beast of Burden', but Steve likes 'Satisfaction'. They talk about the genesis of pop music.

Each musician is a history lesson, as they listen to Cat Stevens and Woodie Guthrie and talk about hippies. They spend a whole day on Bob Dylan. Disco leads into punk rock, then to the eighties, metal, hair metal, glam rock, and the origin of hip hop. Viola seems to like it all; or, if not all of it (disco), a fair section. 

They talk about changes in lyrics; Steve gets a rude awakening with the Misfits' songs like Last Caress and Bullet ("seriously? JFK and the words 'masturbate me' in the same song?"). Viola waxes lyrical about CBGB, anarchy, and the punk scene, mourning that she was born too late. Steve just stares at her pointedly. The more she explains, though, the more he understands why she loves the kind of terrible music.

They tour through grunge, nineties pop ("Britney Spears" says Viola, "cannot be overlooked no matter how painful"), industrial, emo, techno, dubstep. She makes him give it all a fair chance, even though he can tell her right off the bat that music made on a computer isn't his favorite. He's pleasantly surprised at the range of music he can now say he likes. Viola likes country the least, but plays it anyway to show him that there's something to like in every genre.

Viola sets Steve up with a Pandora account, and makes stations based seemingly off of the faces he makes while they listen. She shows him how to upvote, and he spends days delving into different genres. He gets hooked on the lyrics of a band called Brand New, and listens to them when he draws.

☆

They vandalize. Steve and Viola scheme and design together and come up with a set of images that they put up all around the city. This time the subject is the military. Steve comes up with the idea of a soldier, injured and wrapped in bandages, begging for change from indifferent passersby. Viola gets invested in one about women in the military- an image of a woman cradling a wounded soldier in her arms and bears the tagline 'good enough to die for her country, but not good enough to be an officer.' They throw endless ideas back and forth, Steve calling up all of the injustices and wrongs he has witnessed and putting them all on paper. 

Steve honestly doesn't know what his favorite part is; maybe it's finding a subject he cares about deeply. It could be the ridiculous conversations he has with Viola as they wander the city to search for the perfect spot to place their art. Most likely it's the feeling that he gets from doing something illicit, in the middle of the night, giggling with Viola and feeling the freest he has felt since before the war. 

As they race through the streets of D.C. in the middle of the night, Steve forgets about living in the future. He forgets about corrupt spy agencies. He forgets being shot by his brainwashed best friend, just for a second. He feels the heat of the night, warm summer breezes. He sees Viola's laughing face. He knows that there is no real enemy out in the darkness. He can exchange sloppy, breathless kisses with a curly haired vandal and let the rest of the world fall away, if only for a while. 

☆

Natasha and Viola meet. 

The lovers are in the kitchen, Viola teaching Steve how to roll sushi while she makes her 'famous Mexican chocolate cake' for dessert; they are listening to Johnny Cash. There's a knock on the door, and Viola answers it, since Steve is thoroughly covered in sticky rice (he hadn't expected it to live up to its name so literally).

Viola waltzes to the door and whips it open dramatically, comes face to face with a deadly assassin, and without hesitation reaches her hand out in greeting. Steve watches with a hint of trepidation as they both look each other over. 

"Hey. You must be the mysterious Natasha. I'm V, nice to meet you."

Steve can't see Viola's face, and all he gets from Nat is her usual blank stare as the redhead shakes hands. "V, is it? Nice to meet you. Although I can't say I've heard of you before. How did you meet Steve?" As she talks they both move into the apartment. Natasha makes unflinching eye contact with Steve and he knows he's in for an ass kicking later. 

"Ohhh Muscles, you're in trouble!" The brunette jokes. "Hmm. How did we meet? Steve caught me committing misdemeanors in middle of the night." Viola jokingly wiggles her eyebrows. As she observes Natasha's unaffected gaze and haughtily raised eyebrow, she turns back to the kitchen and Steve. "Tough crowd. Somehow I don't think it's me she wants this story from, anyway. Why don't you two go chat, and I'll finish up the rolls?" 

A glance at Nat shows her approval. Steve can only take so long making sure he washes every grain of rice off of his hands before he has to head into the living room with his friend. He reminds himself that he appreciates her, interrogations and intrusions and matchmaking and all.

They sit, and she takes a moment to look at the recently added art on the walls. Steve listens to Viola sing along with the radio in the other room; he is surprised to realize how much the sound relaxes him. Finally the spy turns back toward Steve. He's starting to wonder if her eyebrow is permanently stuck like that. Maybe it's just around him. 

"Well. I got a bit of a report from Sam, but you've been holding out on me, Steve." He squirms uncomfortably in his seat. "What, you thought after all the trouble I went through to set you up with someone that I'd be mad you were dating somebody I didn't hand pick?"

"No." He assures her. "Nothing like that. I'm still not sure how to define what's happening here, and, to be honest, when I talk to you I've been pretty focused on Bucky. It wasn't on purpose, Nat."

She smiles. "Good. Then you can catch me up now." Her gaze tells him she's waiting. 

He knows Natasha hates being in situations without intel, so he finds himself telling her everything. How they met, the graffiti, accidentally kidnapping her, painting and fun and...well. He doesn't mention the sex, but he doesn't think he has to. He does emphasize one point: he doesn't want to know her identity without her permission. He doesn't want a background check or anything else that will take her privacy away. Natasha nods in agreement. As much as she likes holding all the cards, he imagines she can empathize with Viola wanting to keep her past to herself.

So they sit and eat sushi together, the three of them. Viola doesn't aim for polite; she pushes right into the conversation, asking Natasha to help them with their Russian pronunciation, sharing their graffiti project. She's brutally honest and unapologetic about how she lives her life, and as dinner progresses into dessert, Steve can see Natasha relaxing. When Viola brings out her special chocolate cake, she has definitely won some favor. Natasha even gives Viola one small, approving smile. 

As his friend is heading for the door, she pulls Steve aside. "I like her, I'll give you that." The spy tells him. "It's easy to see she's been good for you. You're happier, and lighter, than I think you've been since you woke up."  
Steve smiles at her, but holds his tongue when she fixes him with a serious look. "But Steve, I tell you this with all the love in my heart, be careful." He starts the protest- he's not a child!- but she shushes him. 

"I'm not joking around, Steve. You're getting attached to someone who, for whatever reasons, chooses not to have a home. I'm not judging, but there are reasons behind a decision like that, big reasons, and you need to remember that, because if you both keep going with this thing, one of you is going to get really hurt. Just think about it." She kisses him lightly on the cheek and slides out the door.

She doesn't mention anything the next day, for which Steve is eternally grateful. Natasha comes to spar with them, and upon learning what they are trying to show Viola, promptly takes over the other woman's education. She scolds them for trying to teach a small woman to fight like a man, and starts talking to Viola about Krav Maga. She emphasizes the 'kick them in the balls' concept enough to make both he and Sam wince, but he can tell the women are getting along when Nat promises to show Viola all of her best moves. 

☆

Steve is not embarrassed when he realizes Viola has led him into a sex shop. He is ...slightly uncomfortable with being around strangers and sex (toys? paraphernalia?) things at the same time, but Viola just drags him along with her, telling him that they need some good lube for what she has planned tonight, and that a store like this is just one part of his sexual education. He might groan a little bit, but he definitely doesn't whine.

Steve is curious, and turned on, and still uncomfortable. He knows that people speak openly about sex now, and that this is a fairly normal thing for an adult to do....but he feels like Captain America represents good morals and values, and even though he's not wearing the costume he feels kind of dirty. He knows he's a hypocrite, since this isn't breaking the law, while the graffiti is, but in his mind this seems...worse in some way. More degrading. He doesn't mention this to Viola, because he doesn't want a ten minute lecture on religion and shame and puritanical Americans.

Viola completely ignores his discomfort, leading him up and down each and every aisle in the store, explaining the items to him and watching his reaction. Seriously, she studies his face and he doesn't know what kind of reactions he's supposed to be having, but evidently she sees something there, because after the stare-downs she nods to herself and moves along. 

They make their way from vibrators (Steve imagines Viola using one of these on herself, or better yet, him using one on her) to a variety of (some normal, some, frankly, disturbing) dildos. They move through cock rings ("totally unnecessary," says Viola, "when you can come as many times in a row as you do"), and into...a whole shelf of things that are placed up...the butt. 

"Why would anyone use something like this?" Steve asks, brow furrowed. "I mean, I get the, um, dildos, but...why put something where it doesn't belong?"

"Well, mostly because it feels awesome..." at his skeptical look, she laughs. "No, seriously. Men or women, gay or straight, turns out a lot of people like stuff in their butt. You'll find that out later, though." She winks at him. He is not comforted by this promise. "Hey, if you ever want to be pegged, I'd be happy to oblige." She wiggles her eyebrows and leers suggestively. This time, he thinks she's teasing him. But he still has to ask (seriously? Women penetrating men is a thing?) which leads them over to strap ons. He moves them right along. Pegging is not happening any time soon, and he tells her so. She pouts cutely, which makes Steve want to kiss her lip, but moves on without protest.

This leads them into lots and lots of leather. Viola details the uses of the gags, collars, cuffs, whips, paddles, and more. Steve feels uncomfortable about these things. 

"This all seems very...cruel." Viola smiles knowingly.

"It doesn't have to be. It's really about a relationship where one person has the trust to give up their control to the other person. It doesn't have to be about pain at all. I think a relationship that can achieve such a high level of trust is something to be desired."

Steve can't help but notice the familiar way Viola handles some of the equipment. He imagines her naked, bound on the bed- and yes, that thought definitely sends his half hard cock skyrocketing into full arousal, but the thought of whipping her...

No. He loves seeing her face contorted in pleasure, but pain isn't welcome in their bed. Not like that. 

☆

By the end of their trip, Steve's head is spinning with all of the possibilities that have been brought to light. And then when they get to his apartment, Viola grabs his hand and pulls him straight into the bedroom. 

She runs her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck and gazes deeply into his eyes. God, she is exquisite. 

"Do you trust me, Steve?"

All of the weird, intimidating things he learned today aside, he knows he does. She has watched him carefully, never pushing past his comfort zone. He nods. 

Viola reaches up to kiss Steve, and by the time his tongue has delved into her mouth, he has forgotten his nerves. She pushes him down onto the bed and straddles him. He likes where this is going. 

Viola pulls his shirt off, and her own, so he runs his hands down her curves to rest on her hips, revelling in the feeling of skin touching skin. They spend a moment wrapped in a kiss, and Steve lets himself relax into it, his arousal growing strong enough that he grinds his hips up into her for some relief. 

Curly hair cascades over onto his body as the woman kisses her way down his body, stopping to gently nibble his nipple (which sends a jolt of electricity right through him), to scrape her teeth over his hipbones. Steve helps her pull his pants and boxers off in one go, eager for her to continue. He can't help but thread his fingers through her hair as she starts swallowing his cock. Plus, he knows she likes it when he pulls her hair.

"Ahhhh" he hisses as she gets a rhythm going, hot and sloppy wet pleasure that makes his toes curl. Steve relaxes into the sensation, trying not to roll his hips up and choke her but too caught up in how good it feels to be completely still.

Then he feels wet pressure at his hole. He can't help but jerk and he's sure the sound that comes out of his mouth is ridiculous. Viola's mouth pops off his cock audibly.

"Trust me, remember?" Her grin is sexy and promises pleasure. "All you need to do is relax. Seriously."

Now that he knows what's going to happen he is definitely nervous. Still, he lies back on the bed, letting out a deep breath. He knows if he doesn't like it, she'll stop. 

Steve definitely stops worrying about five seconds later when Viola takes his cock deeper in her throat than she's ever managed before. He can feel her swallowing, and "Jesus, fuck, ohhhh god. Holy shit that's good."

He feels pressure again but he's not really focused on anything but how fucking amazing what is going on around his dick is. There is humming happening now, and his attention is divided between not wanting to miss a second of the sheer pleasure he is feeling and not accidentally hurting her. 

A finger slips inside him, and it feels weird and awkward like he wants it out but also sensitive and, for a second, really arousing. He stays still. Then the finger moves, in and back, twisting a little and hmm....sensitive is definitely a word. More movement, pushing deeper into him, and he feels a sharp spike of pleasure travel up his spine. "Ohhhhhwhoa." His breathing picks up a little.

The suction on his rock hard erection increases and she tongues the slit of his cock and holyshit now there are two fingers up inside of him. The fingers twist and scissor and thrust gently in an out of him and he can't help the whimpers or the fact that his hips buck. 

He isn't really all that aware of what's happening, his mind buzzing with heat and sensation but he definitely notices when the fingers inside him change their angle. 

"Fuck! Fuckfuckfuck oh shit do that again yessssss." He has never felt that sensation before in his life but God does he want to feel that again he is so fucking close to coming and he doesn't even care about what's happening to his prick he tilts his hips down onto her hand searching for that spot again "yesssss" yes there it is, again, again, again...

He is coming. He is coming harder than he has ever come in his life and his back is arching and he is yelling. He feels her swallow his cum down and his vision blacks out and maybe he stops breathing for a moment but honestly all he can feel is the flood of pleasure surging through his body. 

Wow.

He waits for thought to return. 

He breathes. It might qualify more as gasping.

He notices Viola resting her head on his thigh. He pulls her up next to him and kiss her forehead, petting her hair as he comes down from his orgasm. 

"I definitely trust you now." Is what he pants, his face buried in her hair. It sets them both off laughing, giggling hysterically until their sides ache. Steve wipes tears from his eyes. He doesn't think he's ever felt this light. 

"Oh God. Okay, okay." He laughs. "No, seriously, that was fucking great, I definitely want to do that again, I see why people do butt stuff now. More importantly, I really want to pay you back. So what can I do for you?" He questions. 

Viola smiles, and Steve can't help but notice a glint of scheming in her eyes as they meet his. "I'm very glad you liked it, babe, and I'm happy to do it again. You've got all the makings of the world's hottest power bottom. As for what you can do for me..." she stretches luxuriously, drawing his attention away from the unfamiliar term, to her flat stomach and curvy ass, "this is what's gonna happen: you're gonna fuck me and make me come. Then you're gonna do to me what I just did to you until I'm ready and you can fuck my ass until I come again. Sound good?"

Steve is speechless. And hard again. He swallows and nods, pulling Viola under him to kiss her. The...taboo? Inherent wrongness? of anal sex certainly adds an element of desire for Steve. Even now, just imagining himself buried deep in her ass makes him shudder with want. He kisses her harder, eager to start. 

 

Later he would think about that first time, the way Viola so kindly guided him through the steps of opening her up. He wondered if she knew, if she had in mind the idea of training him for other partners. He would recall her deep pleasure, and his, during the act, but he would still wonder.

☆

This is what Steve Rogers has learned about Viola:

Not her last name.

He knows that she is as good or better than he is at making food stretch. Nothing goes bad in his kitchen while they are there together; she always cooks just what she needs, makes odds and ends into something new and delicious, pays close attention to what needs to be eaten before it goes bad. 

She has all sorts of habits like this- saving water (a necessity when one is homeless, he's sure), saving electricity, making things for herself instead of buying them. People in this country for the most part have lost this skill, and Steve realizes how grateful he is that, instead of laughing at his thriftiness, she is right there alongside him. 

 

She is twenty-seven years old. (This sparks a renewed desire, just for a moment, to look her up. The fact that SHIELD no longer exists to use as a resource helps, but he knows what a breach of trust a move like that would be. He's not willing to risk it.)

 

Steve discovers she is bisexual by accident; after a night spent sparring, Viola is thoroughly aroused. Steve takes her against the door to his apartment. As they lie in a half clothed, sweaty heap on the floor, he can't help but wonder aloud what sparked her passion. 

"Oh God, Nat was pinning me to the mat all night making me practice breaking holds. It was so fucking hot, having her straddle me and hold me down, you don't even know...I'd let her fuck me in a heartbeat."

Steve is shocked for a moment; upon thinking, he realizes how easily this fact fits in line with the rest of her character. When he asks, she tells him that, really, she's pansexual- and proceeds to involve him in a lengthy education about sexual identity while they lie, still naked, on the floor.

Thinking about it later in bed, Steve is enthralled by the mental image he has concocted of naked Natasha (he's not attracted to her, but he's not blind, either, ok?), straddling a naked and writhing Viola. He's not all to sure what women get up to together, but that image alone is enough to fuel his masturbatory fantasies the whole time Viola is next away. 

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

This is what Steve and Viola do the third (and last) time she returns:

Oh God. 

It's so fucked up he really can't fathom it. That taking his attention away brought him closer. That this whole time....Steve will never let down his guard again. Except that letting his guard down is what brought this all about to begin with. 

He wants to hate her, for distracting him, but he loves her for doing what he could not. He doesn't know anything anymore.

 

It all started when he showed her his newest sketches. 

He was finally ready to tell her about Bucky, about their childhood and the war and the train, and then the brainwashing and the torture and the Winter Soldier and, now, the searching.

At the time he thought it meant something, that he was healing. That being able to talk about it meant progress. He forgot to think about what would happen if he ever found Bucky; because, of course, it's only progress if that's the end of the story.

Viola listens, still and patient and compassionate and perfect. So when Steve finishes, he gets out his sketchbook to show her the work he's done of Bucky as he looks now, hard and cold and inhuman.

 

He doesn't expect her to stiffen, fingers grasping the pages too tightly. She stands suddenly, grabbing her coat and pulling him out of the door without hesitation.

Halfway there he realizes, and starts running. 

★ ★ ★

I never sleep. I know I must, but I cannot bring myself to do it. So I sit, awake, for hours and hours or days on days until my body cannot take more and everything goes black. Eventually nightmares wake me and I sit up to start the cycle over again.

So when I hear the sounds, I think I am waking up from another nightmare. Sleeping or waking, there is no relief from the horrors inside my mind. I struggle to sit up, only to find that I am already sitting.

Then I know that the sounds are real.

Someone is coming for me. 

My mind smooths out to the blank place, and I know there are two coming for me. They are close. I am moving even as I listen, taking myself out of any lines of sight. Running means they're not pros. A breakdown of likely scenarios means that kids, homeless kids or troublemakers, want my building and are here to oust me. 

I stutter out of the blank place just as quickly. Kids means no fighting, no killing. Means I have to get out before they find me and press the issue. 

I gather up food and water from what's around me. Oh. The girl. The girl who brings this to me, will she bring more? Will she be hurt by whoever stays here next? Sometimes I imagine that it is Steve who comes to bring me things. But he never stays, because he wants Bucky and I am not that. My head tells me that he comes, waiting for the right person to inhabit this body, and leaves disappointed every time. But I know none of it is real. 

How long have I been standing here? I have to move before I do something bad. The footsteps are getting closer. Then they stop.

There are two ways out, so I turn toward the back, slipping through the shadows as my mind seesaws. Winter soldier. Broken mess. Back and forth, trying to get myself out and keep from killing anyone else at the same time. I run a fist through my hair and pull, hoping a jolt of pain will clear my mind.

But it's too late. I can feel someone else in the room.

"I'm sorry" I mutter. I don't know what will happen now. It's not likely to be good.

Time won't fix anything. So I look up. But I'm seeing Steve again. Did I imagine all those sounds?

I sit with a sigh, resting my head against the wall. My delusions are growing; usually Steve has left by now, disappointed once again. I close my eyes. Wait for it to go away.

"Bucky?" My mind is good. That sounds exactly like him. I open an eye to peek. He's still there, of course. Do I talk with my own delusions? What would I say?

"Steve." It barely comes out. It has been months since I last talked, besides the screaming I do when I sleep. 

But then I notice something real. The girl who brings me food is here. 

Shit. Usually I hide. I can't hide now. And what am I seeing? Hallucinating Steve but seeing the food girl right next to him? Focus. Focus on what? Do I say something to the girl?

"You bring me food sometimes." Almost as hard to talk the second time around. Focus.

The girl nods. "Yes, I do. And Steve does too. But we'd like to bring you somewhere we can help you all the time. Does that sound good?" Her voice is calm, kind but normal. Not like she's talking to a crazy person.

I am supposed to say something now. She asked me something. She mentioned Steve. Am I talking with my hallucinations again?

The food girl and Steve exchange a look. I probably said that aloud. Steve is the one to talk this time. "We're real, Bucky. You're not hallucinating us. We are really here and we want to take you home with us. Can I come close? You can touch my hand and feel that I'm real."

"No. I might hurt you. Why are you still here? Usually you leave when you see I'm not Bucky." My head hurts and I haven't talked in months and I don't know if what is happening is real. How do I know what is real? I should have killed myself already. Maybe I'm already dead. Maybe this is hell.

I feel something touch my hand and I swing before I know that it happened. Steve just steps back. I don't move to hit him. I don't want to hurt him. What just happened? I look at my hand. 

His hand comes slowly towards mine so I can see it this time. I stay still. Let it come closer. Then his fingers touch mine. It feels like an electric shock. I startle, but don't pull back. The fingers touch mine again, sliding along until we are clasping hands. 

I stare. What do I do? When was the last time I held a hand? Too many decades ago to remember. Did Natasha and I ever hold hands? I doubt it. His thumb rubs the back of my hand and I stare.

"Why don't we go to Steve's house and talk more? Is that okay?" The girl is talking again. I nod. Whatever is happening right now, I don't have the heart to stop it. I don't have a heart. They took it out of me. 

I feel my hand get pulled gently, and I follow along. Yes, walking. There is movement and speech whirling around me, but I stay grounded to one point: the hand holding mine.


	10. chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so darn long! Vacation, and now 2 weeks of staff meetings where we have stuff all day and then more at night. I'm seriously exhausted. As term starts things will likely continue at a slower pace while I get my bearings, please be patient! :)
> 
> This is a shorter chapter. There's a big reveal in the next one.

Steve pulls Viola and Bucky into his apartment quickly. He turns and locks the door, still clinging to his best friends' hand. He has reached panic as they've made their way through the city. There is too much to do. Make sure Bucky is safe. Forever. Fix everything. 

Suddenly the locks on the door aren't even close to strong enough. Hydra likely still wants Bucky, and there is nothing Steve can do about it. He has to call Nat and Sam. He has to fix Bucky. Viola isn't safe here, with them, she's going to get hurt. His chest floods with heat. Or cold. Is he having an asthma attack? There is so much pressure on his heart, and now he feels like he's on the verge of tears. His throat swells closed and he is standing at the door with his phone in his hand, frozen because he doesn't know what the fuck to do to help his best friend in the entire world. There is no SHIELD, no one he trusts, just Steve.

A squeeze on his hand jolts him back to his body. He didn't realize how tightly he was clinging to Bucky, but obviously the man just squeezed back. What does that mean? 

He looks up. Bucky looks like shit. If Steve thought that seeing him as the Winter Soldier was bad, this is a thousand times worse. His hair is longer still, brushing his collarbones, greasy, and matted. His face is gaunt, his cheekbones pushing too sharply at the skin underneath. The deep bruises under his eyes are an obvious testament to his lack of sleep. 

The rest of his body is no better. Clothes hang loosely on his frame, but even still Steve can see how much weight Bucky has lost. How little muscle is left. His left arm hangs oddly from his shoulder, and Steve surmises that Bucky no longer has the muscle mass to support its weight. 

Bucky's eyes stare seemingly at nothing. Then, quickly, they dart from Steve, to Viola, then to where their hands are still joined. 

Steve's eyes turn to Viola, and he can't help showing her his panic and worry. His eyes water again as she meets his gaze with love, understanding, and a smile. 

That's right. He's not alone. He exhales. Smiles back at his lover. It strikes him that meeting her might be the best thing to happen to him since he woke up. 

Viola swings her arms in parody of nonchalance. "Okay, yay, everybody's here. You, my homeless comrade, need a bath like nobody's business." She smiles, leaning forward to catch Bucky's gaze. "I'd like to help you get clean. Do I have your permission to do that?" Her face is the picture of patience, kindness, understanding. And Steve knows that, to an extent, she does understand. He holds his breath waiting to see whether she will get a response. 

The three of them stand in an odd triangle without talking for what seems like an eternity. Finally, Bucky nods once. Viola smiles at him before turning to Steve. 

"Okay, then. Steve, why don't you call Sam and Nat and see if you can find some clothes for Bucky while we get clean?"

Steve is frozen. He doesn't want to let go of Bucky's hand, but he needs a moment to pull himself together. Most of all, he's worried about Viola. He pulls her close so he can whisper in her ear. 

"I don't know about this. He could hurt you badly, by accident. I don't feel comfortable leaving the two of you alone together."

Viola nods. "I get that you're worried, but it's okay. He wouldn't even mean it, but he could lash out if he gets startled. I can take care of myself, and you'll be close. More importantly, he's not sure you're really here, and he seems more able to believe that I'm real. Take the time, pull yourself together, and hopefully by the time we're done he'll be a little more pulled together, too."

Kind brown eyes smile up at him. Steve is so fucking turned around right now, and he needs to process everything that is going on in his head right now. He presses his lips into a quick smile, rubbing his hand along the outside of her arm in thanks. He doesn't want to let go of Bucky's hand (ever again), but he gives it a squeeze before replacing his hand with Viola's. 

"Okay, Buck. Viola will take good care of you, and if you need me I'll be right out here." Steve stands stiffly, needing to decompress but needing his friend not to see it. Bucky passively lets himself be led away.

 

Steve feels as if all of his nerves are on fire. He is crawling out of his skin and feels a sudden urge to scream. Instead he grits his teeth and makes the fastest phone call he has ever made ("Nat? It's Steve. We found Bucky. Pick up Sam and get here now."). 

That done, he stands in his living room and flails around for something to ground himself. He talks to himself. 

"Bucky is here. In my apartment. He's not dead and no one is trying to kill him..at least for now. He knows who I am. He didn't try to kill us."

He repeats these thoughts or variations of them until it sinks in. This is not even close to the worst case scenario. His breathing slows. This isn't even close to the worst case scenario. Things are going to be okay. 

He walks silently to the bathroom door (Viola has wisely left it open), and peeks in. Bucky is sitting, naked and doll-like, in the bath. Viola sits in front of him, clothing soaked. She starts to wash his hair, and Steve sees Bucky's eyes close as she massages his scalp. He can see her whisper; after a moment of concentration, his super hearing picks up a song. 

He hears Viola sing a slow, sweet song. She sings softly to Bucky, repeating the words as she gently rinses his hair. Looking up, she spies Steve and nods to him, signaling that everything is okay. He nods in return. Heads to the bedroom, pulls some clothes he thinks will fit Bucky, drops them off on the bathroom sink (Bucky doesn't even look up at the intrusion) makes his way back to the living room.

There's a knock at the door and Steve rushes to let Sam and Nat in. He locks the door behind them.

His friends stand in the entry, eyes on him. Nat looks as high strung as Steve feels.

"What's going on, man? Nat said you found Bucky? What the hell happened?" Sam questions. 

Steve nods. "We found him, alright." He presses his hand to his face for a moment. "He was..." shakes his head. "He's the fucking homeless man Viola and I have been taking food to for weeks." He doesn't look up, doesn't want to see their faces. "I've been screwing around all summer and he's been right. There. And I finally showed her a picture of what he looks like now, and....that was that." He sighs. "I've been within feet of him more than once, and I never bothered to LOOK. But. He came with us. He seems to think I'm not real, but he's...cooperating. He knows who I am. That's all I've got." He still doesn't look up.

He hears Natasha's emotionless voice. "Where is he now?"

"In the bathroom. Viola's giving him a bath. I'm sure she could use your help." 

He knows that the two of them are having a silent conversation, but he doesn't care. He hears Natasha walk away, and he relaxes enough to sit in a chair, head in his hands. He takes a deep, shuddering breath.

A beat later, Sam's hand squeezes his shoulder as his friend passes him to sit on the couch. 

"Hey. Steve. Take a nice breath for me, okay?" Steve complies. "Great." He hears his friend blow out a sigh of his own. 

"Okay. First things first, Bucky is here. Nothing else matters. You got Bucky back. He's here, he's okay for now, everything else we can handle. Right?"

Steve huffs a laugh. "That's the thing, Sam. All of my fuck ups aside, that's why I'm freaking out. What the hell do I do now?" As he speaks, he finally meets his friend's kind eyes, and feels the tears that have been threatening all evening break free. 

"I have no idea what to do to help him, Sam. What if I fuck him up? Am I the wrong person to do this because I'm so emotionally involved? I just....I want (need, whispers his mind...need, need...) Bucky to be better. But I'm not sure that I'm the person to make that happen. And I don't know what to do." It hurts, a little, to meet his friend's eyes and bare himself. But he needs this. He needs these fears answered.

Sam chuckles. "Oh, Steve. We are all here to help you. Nobody's expecting you to fix the brainwashed ex assassin all by yourself." Steve's head snaps up; his eyes meet the other man's. "Either way, he's gonna need you. He needs a support system, you know that. And you're the best thing he could ever get. You know better than any of us what a lot of his triggers will be, and how to deal with them. Nat can take care of the stuff you don't know."

Sam is smiling earnestly. "Don't tell me you don't know what to do when you're the one who's been researching all of this for however long. Between the four of us, Bucky's gonna get taken care of. I can't guarantee he'll be okay, but we are as prepared as anyone can be for a situation like this."

After a moment, Steve nods. "You're right. God, you're right. Just....having him here, after so long....I guess it really messed with my mind." He breathes a little easier.

Sam cracks a grin. "Hey, this guy means a lot to you, it makes sense that he would put you on your ear a little. But there's one thing I think you might want to get out of the way now...."

Steve looks curiously as his friend. He nods for him to go on. 

"I think the arm's gotta go, man. That thing was made by a bunch of fucking crazy people, god knows what it's got in it, or if it's tracking him or some shit...I really think you oughtta call your friend Tony and see what he can do."

"I agree." Viola's voice calls out from the doorway. She has changed into dry clothes, Steve sees as she makes her way toward the men. "You haven't seen him yet, Sam, but that arm is hanging funny. I'd guess that he's lost too much weight and muscle tone to be able to use it properly anyway. It's not gonna be fun, but you're actually right on this one, Sam."

Steve pulls her down to sit on his lap. He needs the contact right now. "Okay. I'll call Tony." He squeezes Viola tighter for a moment, not ready to let go.

"While we're talking next steps, I wanted to bring up some things." Steve gives his attention to Viola as she speaks. "We do need to know what he remembers, but....Steve, I want you to realize that, aside from that, it'd be better if you let him bring up the past first. It might be frustrating or painful for him if you ask him about things from your past. It will also reinforce the idea that you want him to be that person."

Steve nods, wanting to stop her there. She's right, of course. He'll have to tread carefully. He sighs again, more deeply. 

"I think it's a good idea for us all to and figure out where he's at. Nat's feeding him now. I'll go call Tony, and we'll get started." 

 

★ ★ ★

 

The food girl tells me to call her V. She bathes me gently, working through my hair with a brush. I remember being hosed down like an animal. This is different. I can feel her fingers running through my hair, and it makes me close my eyes. V is careful to let me see the open door no matter what she does. I will try hard not to hurt her. 

There is someone else at the door. It is Natasha Romanov, the Black Widow. I let memories flood my head. When they are done I am unsure of whether she is here to kill me or not. V is trying to dry my body, but I make it hard for her, I am so tense. I need to be ready to fight. 

But V smiles at Black Widow. Black Widow lets her lips turn up gently. I know enough of her body language to read that as a non threatening smile. Her body is purposely relaxed. Her face turns to me and she does her not smile again. 

I take this to mean that she doesn't intend on killing me right now. I let V dress me. 

V takes my face in her hands with care. "I need to go get dry. Natasha is here to help. She's going to get you some food. Is that plan okay with you?"

I run the odds. I can't fight past Steve if they do something, and she's not trying to hurt me. I nod. V smiles and touches my shoulder. 

I follow Black Widow into the kitchen. She points to a stool. "Sit if you'd like while I cook." I sit. Her movements are slow. She lets me see everything she does as she cooks. I watch to be sure there are no poisons or drugs, but between her and Steve I would not get away if there were. She doesn't turn her back to me. That is for the best. 

I eat. She watches me. We are silent. When I am through she directs me to the room with paintings on the walls. Some I recognize. One I do not. 

Steve speaks. "Okay. Well, we're really happy you're here, and that you're ok. We all want to help you." He indicates the others one by one. "This is Viola, she brought you food. Then Natasha. Over here is Sam Wilson. Do you remember them?"

His blue eyes stare at me and I remember this look. It is hope. I nod. This makes him smile. 

"Great. That's great. You're safe here." His eyes are filled with earnestness. "I know we fought before, but no one will hurt you while you're here. None of us. We hope that you won't hurt us, but we understand that you might accidentally. If you want to leave, you can, and I will help you in any way I am able." He hesitates for a moment. "I'd rather you stay with me, though. Whatever that looks like." 

This doesn't seem to require a response from me. I stay still, looking unblinking at him. He is really here, in front of me. V told me in the bath that he had brought me food. I try to readjust to the idea that Steve is here, and he wants me. I can't leave it alone.

"What do you want from me?" Even to my own ears I sound wrong; not human, no emotion in my voice.

His face shows surprise for a moment, quickly covered by thoughtfulness. "I know what you're thinking." He says, a stern expression on his face that I know I have seen many times in the past, "but I'm not going to tell you how much I want my Bucky back, or anything like that. You are my Bucky, just the way you are. You've been changed, and so have I, and we can't go back to before everything. I don't want that." He pauses. "I want you to be happy, however that happens. I want you to be healthy and free from people trying to use you. I want you to figure out what you want to be like now. I want, very badly, to be there to help you through it." He exhales, then looks up at me with a small smile. "But I won't make you."

 

I try to think of what I should be saying right now. What would Bucky say? He would probably joke. No one in this room would buy that. 

I turn my gaze away from Steve for a moment. Sam is quiet and still in his seat, observing but not participating. There may be more to him than I have seen, so I file him away for later. Natasha sits just as still, but I can instinctively see the thoughts running under the surface. She is doing her best to assess me and whatever I say. V smiles warmly when our eyes meet. Her gaze is firm and steady, and I do not have enough prior information to define her emotions. 

I turn my eyes to the floor as I finally respond. 

"Okay."

I look up in time to see Steve smile brilliantly. "Okay." He says back. 

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

The best thing about the last day for Steve has been talking to Bucky. Okay, asking him questions and getting monosyllabic answers, but still. 

The worst thing is that Bucky hasn't slept. He won't sleep. Steve can keep up with him for a few days, but he worries how they will solve this. 

The most awkward thing is not knowing what to call him. They ask him what name he would like (Bucky? James? Something different?), but he simply shrugs.

The least awkward thing is Viola, there at Steve's side. Squeezing his hand in reassurance when he starts getting worried about the future. She feels like home.

 

Then Tony Stark shows up.

Thankfully, Bucky and Viola are in the kitchen when he arrives, so Steve quickly pulls Tony into the spare bedroom (now perfect for Bucky...if he would sleep), shushing him as they go.

"Hey!" The shorter man blusters as he pulls his arms out of Steve's grip. "What the hell? That's no way to treat the genius who flew down from New York to come to you on your top secret whatever mission or something, you know, don't mind me I'm just here because you begged me and all-"

He seems to intend to keep going, so Steve talks over him.

"Yes. Tony, glad you're here, thanks for flying down, now please be quiet." He puts on his best Captain voice. Seeing that the brunet is listening and as quiet as he can be, he continues. "I need your help, but I need you to just listen, ok?" This earns him a nod and an eye roll.

"Great. We really need expertise only you and Bruce can provide." He panders. Unashamedly. Then looks with his best Captain face into Tony's eyes, trying to impress upon him the seriousness of what he's saying. 

 

Ten minutes later Steve has given Tony the breakdown of Bucky, the Winter Soldier, what's happening now, and his concerns about the cybernetic arm. Given the fact that there's no evidence the Winter Soldier was responsible for Howard and Maria Stark's deaths that detail is omitted. Tony has validated his concerns, letting him know there's potentially plenty of deadly traps or locators or self destructs in the thing. 

"Just knowing Hydra and their MO, it's definitely gonna have to come off, Cap," the goateed man lectures, "and it's likely to hurt, so probably a good idea to put him out." He chews a handful of whatever snack is currently in his hand. "we can do it tonight if you want, Mr. Freeze." 

Steve rolls his eyes at the dig, but a moment of panic rolls through him. "He's never gonna consent to being drugged. He probably won't even want the arm taken off. How am I going to convince him?" He is deeply entrenched in worry now. 

Tony looks closely at him for a moment. Then he waves airily. "Don't worry about it, Oh Captain my Captain. Tony's here and he's got it all under control."

This doesn't reassure Steve in the least, but Tony refuses to plot with him, instead saying it will be taken care of. He starts by introducing Tony to the group. Natasha gives him a curt nod, then promptly leaves the room. Sam seems slightly starstruck. Tony eyes Viola up and down for a long moment before she laughs and whispers something in his ear. It makes Tony laugh and kiss her cheek.

It's not Steve's fault he can hear what she says. "Oh honey," she croons in the billionaire's ear, "it'd never work out between you and me. I don't like to top."

Steve is still trying to figure out what she means when Bucky slumps to the side. The super soldier makes to stand and help his friend, only to feel his own knees buckle. Viola's shocked face is the last thing he sees before things go black. 

 

★ ★ ★

 

I awaken to a headache and a churning stomach. This isn't so unusual. Neither is the memory loss. I only notice something's really wrong when I go to sit up.

And almost end up on the floor. Because I overbalanced.

I don't want to see, but I still look. 

They took my arm. 

 

 

They took my fucking arm! They took my arm I swear to God I will kill someone they took my arm now I don't have any way of fighting back they took my arm I'm totally helpless and they fucking drugged me!

I hear someone screaming. Footsteps rush into the room, and I realize the person screaming is me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I beg for your comments!


	11. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy motherfucking shitballs, I actually updated!!! 
> 
> Ok. Seriously, save me from teenagers. Please! I love my new job, but I am seriously at work from 8 in the morning till 9:30 at night some days. And there's class on Saturdays as well. So very very very little time left for, you know, managing to do my laundry, nevermind write. But I wrote! I'm gonna guess that things aren't going to speed up any time soon, but maybe on my first break (in October). So. 
> 
> I hope it's good, it's not very heavily edited. And... big reveal! Big sad reveal.
> 
> Lemme know what you think!

Steve has Tony Stark pressed against a wall, hands fisted in his shirt. There is yelling the likes of which has not been seen since Loki invaded New York with an alien army. It is in no way helping Steve's massive headache, that's for sure. 

Still, as soon as Steve hears Bucky's screams, he is rushing to the door of his second bedroom (completely ignoring Tony's protests as he is dumped unceremoniously onto the floor). He opens the door, reaching the side of the bed, almost grabbing onto Bucky before he thinks better of it.

"Bucky! Fuck, Bucky, I am so fucking sorry," he starts. The man in front of him has not stopped screaming at all. "I didn't mean for things to happen this way, I was worried about your arm so I called Tony in and they thought you'd never agree to it, and Natasha and he went behind my back and they drugged us. They drugged me so I wouldn't stop them from taking your arm without your permission. I just woke up and I could fucking kill Tony Stark right now, I am so goddamn sorry."

Somewhere in the middle of his ranting speech Bucky has stopped screaming. He sits up in his bed, silent, obviously listening, but his body is still and his eyes fixed on the bedspread, jaw clenched. Silence is good.... right? Steve thinks it is better than screaming. But as he goes on apologizing, cursing his coworkers (he couldn't call them friends, not now), the silence deepens. Each word from Steve's mouth seems more trivial than the last. 

Eventually Steve can't bring himself to go on apologizing any more. Instead he tries to get Bucky to look at him. 

No luck. Damnit, he should never have called Tony in the first place. He takes his leave, reluctant to exit the room but understanding the glaring fact that Bucky wants nothing to do with him. Probably any of them. Steve wonders how hard it will be for his friend to balance without his arm, but in the end the wondering is futile, as he is sure Bucky would rather fall over than have Steve help him right now. 

He exits his second bedroom ready to pick up right where he left off, slamming the idiot playboy billionaire philanthropist or whatever he was right against the wall. His fury is curtailed immediately, however, by the sight of Tony elbow deep (no pun intended) in Bucky's arm. As furious as he is with the man, he is desperate to be told that it was all worth it, and it looks like a verdict one way or the other is coming soon. 

As he stands against the wall in his kitchen, arms crossed, furiously glaring at the completely oblivious engineer, Natasha slinks up beside him. 

"Don't even start with me. I know he didn't think this whole stunt up on his own." He shakes his head. "In fact, I'd find it far more likely that this was all your idea, and he just tagged along for the ride." Steve sighs, purposely not making eye contact, which only reminds him of Bucky and how spectacularly pissed he is. "You know, you've done stuff before that's made me question my trust in you, but I never thought you'd be so cold." He is almost shaking with anger. 

"Aren't you supposed to play all good cop with Bucky to gain his trust back? He'll never trust you now. More importantly, he'll never trust ME either."

He sulks silently for a moment longer. Finally he brings his gaze up to Natasha, and she raises an eyebrow, questioning silently whether it's her turn to speak. He gives her a sighing go-ahead hand wave, then re-crosses his arms over his chest defensively. 

The redhead waits patiently until she has his full attention. 

"Steve? Get over it." She says with no heat in her voice. He pushes off the wall ready to argue, but a serious glance from the woman in front of him makes him back down. He knows better than to cross Black Widow with that look on her face.

"I'm serious right now, Steve. Get the fuck over it, and I don't want to talk about this shit ever again. You're so busy worrying about not hurting the brainwashed assassin's feelings that you're ignoring massive safety threats. Hydra may be on the run, but they have years of planning and resources and control of a superstrong arm in a crazy man's body with who knows what shit inside of it. And you just bring him into your home, bring him in contact with not only your own stupid ass, but your very human girlfriend, and Sam, and me, and Tony...without a fucking thought about safety. Triggers buried in his brain. Whatever that arm might be capable of. You may have decided to take the goddamn high road with your best friend from the good old days, but I had to think about threats in the real world, where the rest of us live." 

The whole time she speaks she maintains the same stony exterior as always, eyes unflinchingly meeting Steve's. Her words are calm and firm. Once he knows she is done Steve takes a moment, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. He tries to distance himself from things for long enough to calm down. 

"I guess I should thank you, Widow, for thinking of the big picture. It's true that I didn't think as carefully as I should have about all of the potential scenarios once I got him back. I know him, and I really do believe that his conditioning has broken down, but I can't prove it. I suppose that’s what matters."

His eyes meet hers, and he tries to let the truth of his perspective show. He has never felt more like Captain America. 

"Whatever the potential risks, I still don't believe you should have used subterfuge to take Bucky's arm away against his will. I know that makes me a bad spy, and I don't mind that one bit. We could have talked to him. You got what you wanted, but you lost my trust. Now get out of my house." He turns away, calmly striding through his apartment until he finds Viola, elbow deep in some goo that he thinks might turn out to be soap. He slides his arms around her waist, pulling himself close to her and breathing in her scent. It comforts him more than he thought it would. 

Viola and Sam have been standing well back from the drama. Now the woman tugs slips her hand into Steve’s, and tugs him into his bedroom. She silently pulls him into another hug, and he buries his face in her hair, letting her be his comfort. 

 

She nudges his face with her jaw until their lips meet. They kiss languidly for a moment, and then with more heat as Steve starts to let some of the events of the day sink into his bones. Before he knows it he is throwing her onto the bed, following her over so he can pull her clothes off without any pause. He kisses down her body, pulling cries from her with each nip and suck and lick and pinch. 

Then he is thrusting into her hard, harder than he thought he could go, and her back is   
arching under him, skin shining with sweat, and her cries echo in his ears as they both come again and again and again. 

✩

When Steve comes out into the kitchen again he is still massively worried about Bucky, there’s no way around it. Still, he understands why Tony and Natasha thought that drugging Bucky was the only way they were going to get the arm off. He tries to focus on the understanding, instead of on the idiocy. It sort of works. 

He comes upon Stark, stripped down to a wife beater, hands black with grease, hair a wild mess. His face (although also sporting some greasy smudges), is no longer buried in the remnants of the arm on the table, so Steve assumes that there’s a verdict to be had. He quirks an eyebrow at the man in front of him.

Tony stretches, stands, heads to the fridge, and starts pulling things out. Steve huffs, and decides to let things lie. As long as he gets answers.

As if hearing his thoughts, Tony starts talking. With food in his mouth. 

“OK, Cap, lemme give you the breakdown here.”

A moment later, when Tony has swallowed, he continues. 

“I know what you really wanna hear, and because I’m a genius, I can tell you it’s true. Or at least, true to some extent.” The wave of relief rushing through Steve is so potent that it takes him a minute to realize that Tony has started talking again.

“I mean, I looked for a remote detonation on some of the shit that’s in there, and….. there wasn’t one. So, you know, yay for Hydra not being able to remote detonate Bucky’s arm.” He pauses for a moment, mouth disgustingly full of food. Steve looks away until he swallows. “Well, that’s not exactly true. More that the remote detonation was mangled, so in all likelihood Bucky was with it enough to realize that he needed to take that shit out, and he did. A bad job, but passable for a non-genius non-engineer.”

Steve rolls his eyes and represses the urge to shake Tony until the story comes out, commentary-free.

“So. No remote detonation, now. And I’ve gotta say, I’m glad, because…. some of the shit that’s in that arm…” Stark makes crazy windmilling motions with his hands that Steve assumes illustrate his point. “There is some seriously crazy shit in that arm. I cannot fucking wait to start making your insane friend a new one, because I can make one with all the awesome shit, just even better. Obviously, since I’m the one making it.”

Steve can’t stand it any more. “Jesus Christ, Tony, would you get the fuck on with it already, and tell me straight out what you found?” 

Tony is the one rolling his eyes now. “Yeah, Steve, like that’s gonna happen.” He pauses. “Hey, man you’re the one holding the whole thing up by interrupting.” 

When Steve glares at him, he shrugs his shoulders. “Just saying.”

“Anyway,” he continues, “yes. There’s that whole thing. But then there’s the big stuff, which really isn’t very exciting in terms of tech, but JARVIS is awesome and can analyze anything. So pretty much, crazy screaming guy in there was getting some pretty heavy doses of all sorts of psychotropic drugs.”

Steve inhales sharply. That might be worth the insanity they just went through. 

“It’s like the story about the Italian woman, who poisons her husband’s food every morning, and then gives him the antidote every night.” When Steve just looks at him blankly, the other man elaborates. “If he doesn’t come home, he has a really bad night. Get it”

Aha. “How does that relate to Bucky?”

“Pretty much, the arm had a hidden well of the drugs, and it releases small amounts over time. So the first couple of days he’s on a mission, he’s fine, and he’s still got all of the stuff they pumped into him during the brainwashing or whatever. But if he doesn’t come back in, he gets more doses over time, and the drugs start kicking in and making everything all sorts of fucked up. That means that if he didn’t come in when he was supposed to, he’d be pretty useless, and I’m guessing that he’d be pretty easy to find for the most part.”

Steve nods in understanding, now. “So those drugs might make him just sit in an abandoned building and not really move for weeks.”

Tony shoots a finger-gun at him. “You got it, Cap. Fucked up drugs, easy to catch brainwashed assassin.”

Steve heads towards Viola, wanting to share the news. As an afterthought, he calls over his shoulder. “Still not forgiving you for being an asshole.”

“Still not apologizing for being an asshole.” He hears in return. 

✩

The next few days pass in relative misery. 

Tony Stark almost immediately returns to New York, taking all of the parts of Bucky’s arm with him, and proclaiming that he would be making something “so much more amazing than this pathetic bunch of scraps that you’ll all weep in awe.”

Natasha slinks around Steve’s apartment, not all that much differently than she normally does, which gives Steve a small insight into her psyche. He angrily (and maybe a little unfairly) rants to Viola about how if she cares enough to continue to check on Bucky, then she shouldn’t have fucked with him, and Viola kicks his ass. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

“Think about it,” she says to Steve, eyebrow raised at his petulance. “Nat had something pretty special with him once upon a time. I don’t imagine that she’s had a lot of good things going in her life, and he was one of them.” 

Steve nods, but still doesn’t get her point. She sighs good naturedly, rolling her eyes.

“Duh, Steve. She’s not getting her friend back, and she knows that. He didn’t know her as the Winter Soldier, so that’s gone forever. And if he is remembering things, he’s remembering you, and being Bucky. Any connection he had with her is getting pushed way into the background when it’s compared with you. You might really get Bucky back, but Nat isn’t getting anyone back. And she cares about him, but she doesn’t want to be hurt when he doesn’t remember her at all. Get it, dummy?”

He does. He really does. So, in the name of putting angst and traumatic experiences behind them, he casually asks her if she wants to spar. They don’t speak of it (they probably won’t ever), and they probably aren’t okay, but they aren’t fighting anymore either. 

Sam focuses on Bucky. He puts all of his knowledge of angry amputee vets to use and gives it his best shot, several times over. It’s hard to tell if anything’s working, because Bucky still won’t talk to anyone; he eats when no one is looking, and refuses to allow anyone to help him as he struggles with one arm; Sam says all of this is normal. 

Bruce calls a day or so after the incident, Tony having sent him JARVIS’ analysis of whatever crap the arm was injecting into Bucky. He tells Steve that it will take some time to work out of his system. He can’t estimate much more closely than that it will be a few weeks, he says, because of the whole Supersoldier serum knockoff/ frozen for long periods of time/ no normal bloodwork problem. Steve knows that there’s no way they’re going to get anywhere near him now to get a blood sample, so he thanks Bruce and leaves it alone, knowing that some estimate is better than nothing. 

Bucky still won’t talk to Steve, and it’s heartbreaking to have him so close and still not there. He leans on Viola for comfort and support, and their lovemaking takes on a different tone than in the weeks before everything happened. He looks forward to getting to curl around her as they sleep, skin touching skin, and sinking deep into oblivion. She helps him keep perspective, reminds him that this was never going to be an easy road, that Bucky is worth every bit of disappointment and frustration (and he is, he really is). 

It’s hard, all the same. Steve doesn’t let that stop him from going to see Bucky, from offering his help, from telling him some of the things that happened after they lost each other. Steve talks, and Bucky sits, stiff and still, eyes firmly away from wherever the other man is. He doesn’t react, doesn’t talk, and it makes Steve feel like a fool to stand in front of his best friend, pouring his heart out, but he does it anyway. 

 

He does it anyway, because Bucky is worth it. 

 

✮

 

Every time I forget, it comes back and hits me. They took my arm. 

 

They took the last thing that would keep me from being completely at their mercy.

 

I can’t fucking stand it.

 

Steve is so sorry, so very sorry, but he doesn’t give it back. He wanted it gone, too. Because I’m dangerous, a threat to be neutralized.

 

I half expect that, now that they’ve made me helpless, they’ll just put me in a room somewhere and forget about me. Put me back on ice.

 

The idiot with the wings comes in, and he tells me that it’s okay to be angry, like I don’t fucking know that already. He talks and talks about how I should talk more, but that’s not likely to happen any time this century. Men don’t cry and share their feelings over tea. Soldiers deal with the hand they’ve been given and don’t complain. I exist. I don’t talk about it.

 

I guess this is what people are like now. 

 

Nat doesn’t come in. I know from listening to Steve, and V, and Sam that she helped the other guy take my arm. She must know how furious I am at her, because she slinks around corners, looking into the room but never actually entering, never actually speaking. I have years of memories of her in my head, but I can tell that the person I watch from the corners of my eyes has changed. Good. We both have. 

 

Steve…..

 

Well. Steve. 

He comes to visit me constantly. And he tells me everything, fills me in on everything I missed since I fell off that bridge. He doesn’t leave out a detail, either; he tells me exactly how terrified he was when the plane went down, how messed up he was when they woke him up. He talks about all of it, about New York, about SHIELD and Hydra, even V. 

I listen, but I take care not to let it show.

 

I don’t know how I can trust him, and I don’t really even know what’s going on in my own head anymore, thoughts jumbled around, different years and different lives all intersecting. I think that I need to make a timeline, but I’d have to talk to someone to do that, and I’m not planning on giving in any time soon. 

 

Fuck all of them. I’m not weak, and I won’t be weak. I won’t let them treat me like I’m damaged. 

 

I know I’m damaged.

 

I don’t know what’s going on in my own head, but I’m not going to let them treat me like a doll. 

 

And Steve…. Steve has people now, he has a life and a girl and friends. He has the life he should have had before the war. He doesn’t need me now, that’s for sure. He stopped needing me to take care of him when he became Captain America, and now he doesn’t need me at all. Not as a sharpshooter, not as his best friend (because he’s been getting along just fine without me, hasn’t he?), not as anything.

 

I keep wondering when the other shoe will drop.

 

Then there’s V. Yesterday she barged into my room, squatted right in front of my face, and pressed a razor into my hand. Well, I figured out that it was a razor afterwards, when she said “Bucky, I understand that you don’t trust any of us enough right now to let us shave you, not with a blade that close to your throat. But you look fucking gross, and I can’t stand it anymore. This is an electric razor. You can’t keep it. But I will watch you while you shave the mangled cat off your face, or I swear to God I will hold you down and do it myself. Don’t think I can’t take you.”

I ignored her viciously for about ten minutes, and then she started coming at me like she was really going to hold me down, and I gave in. She doesn’t make me panic, but I don’t think I can stand being held down, ever again. And…. I guess I don’t really want her to get hurt, either. So I shaved myself, badly, with the electric razor. It makes my face feel lighter, more sensitive. I get distracted by the feel of the sheets against my face when I lay my head on my pillow.

 

I still don’t sleep much. Or eat much. I don’t like moving around when I can’t balance, don’t like letting them see me fall on my ass. In the middle of the night I wake up and let myself fall out of bed, walk to the kitchen, pick some fruit or something I can eat with only one hand. 

It’s hard to talk, in a way it wasn’t when they found me...wherever I was. Then I thought I was hallucinating. Or in hell. Now everything is too real, too bright and sharp and wrong. 

 

Because it’s wrong that, after so fucking long, Steve would find me and I’d be living with him but not be talking (not that he doesn’t deserve it, the bastard). It’s too fucking wrong that I’m all broken, that Steve is shiny and perfect and strong and I am the broken one, I am the weak one, I can’t get by on my own. I fucked everything up. 

I can imagine it now, how it should have been. I should have recognized Steve when I first saw him, instead of trying to kill him. I should have helped him take Hydra down and we would have been whole and together and normal. 

 

But instead I’m just this. And now that they took my arm and smashed it into a million bits, I can’t even fucking get out of bed without falling down. My body is so weak, my mind flooded with a million memories I can’t place, and I don’t know how to be. Or who to be. I can’t be Bucky anymore, can’t be the lover Natasha wants, can’t be the Soldier. 

 

✭

 

Three days later, V comes barging into my room like usual. She closes the door carefully behind her, comes over to the bed and sits facing me, trying to catch me eyes. 

“You need to get the fuck over yourself.” She says, oddly with a complete lack of inflection or heat.

I just glare in her general direction.

“Seriously. It’s killing Steve, and I can tell you’re miserable, and you need to just accept that something shitty happened, and get the fuck over it.”

 

Yeah. Right. I snort.

 

And then almost jump out of my skin when V grabs me by both shoulders and shakes a little.

“No. No more.” She spits out. “You’re fucking lucky that Steve is still around. You don’t know how hard it is to lose the person you love most in the world.”

I huff again. Yeah fucking right. I’m nobody’s most important person. 

 

It seems to piss her off even more. “I swear to fucking god, you’re gonna listen, and you’re gonna listen good. You’re not going to say a fucking thing until I’m done. And you’re gonna respect me enough to look at me while I’m spilling my most painful secrets out to you.”

 

Well. That certainly makes me look her way. 

When she’s satisfied that she really does have my attention, she nods. And sighs.

 

“Okay. Suffice it to say, I was not a particularly happy teenager. I didn’t get along with my parents, but not many people do when they’re that age. I was happy to go away to college, because I wanted to get away from them. Of course, they had all the money, so they still managed to control me when I was in college, and I got a little wild. I ended up barely twenty years old, pregnant.” 

She has my attention now. I want to know where her kid is more than I want to prove to her she’s wrong about Steve and me. 

 

She’s still looking me right in the eyes, unguarded, showing me everything she’s feeling. I see how hard it is for her to find words, and I sit frozen, not knowing how to receive the gift she’s given me by letting me see her so vulnerable.

“When I got pregnant my parents wanted me to get an abortion. But from the moment I knew about it, I loved that baby. I wanted to hold him with every fiber of my being. I just….knew that having him would be the right thing for me. So I told my parents that, and they kicked me out.” She smiles ruefully.

“Honestly, I had no idea how to support myself, or how to live in the big, bad world without anybody to help. But I did. I got a job, and an apartment, worked like crazy and grew a baby in my belly. And loved him.

Long story short, I birthed my baby boy into my hands, seven years and a few months ago. And I love him so very much, so much more than you could ever know.”

 

She looks at me still, her gaze piercing. I can’t look away, but I can’t bear to see the emotions she’s showing me. I squirm, but she holds me steady still, holds my eyes with hers. Suddenly I don’t want to hear what she has to say anymore.

 

“But, of course, as soon as he was born I knew something was wrong. And I was right. We spent days in the hospital, and they did a million tests, and finally they told me what was wrong.”

Her eyes turn pondering for a minute. “I’m pretty sure you don’t know much about genetics, between being born in like 1918 and being a brainwashed russian assassin. But he had a genetic disease called Edward’s syndrome. He was born with things wrong, that couldn’t be fixed. Most babies that have it die before they’re born, but not Toby. Instead, he looks at me with these beautiful dark blue eyes. Wraps his hand around my fingers. Cuddles against my chest and falls asleep. And they tell me that he’s going to die. That, if I’m lucky, he’ll live until he’s one.”

She shakes her head. Her voice is starting to crack, her eyes filling with tears that she lets spill down her cheeks. “Can you imagine loving the most perfect little creature in the world, and knowing that he’s going to die? I couldn’t, really. It was too much. Too fucking unfair, to have finally found this perfect person, who I loved more than anything in the entire world, who changed my whole life, who made everything matter more, and then be told that he was going to die.

“So I stayed home with him. Worked jobs where I could take him along, like babysitting. Saved all the money I could, because he was sick a lot, and I wanted to stay home and take care of him. Spend every single second of his life with him. And I did. I was with him through every illness, every surgery. Through him growing, and learning to roll over, and sit up, and crawl, eating his first foods, playing with toys. 

“And then he got sicker, and when he was about a year and a half, he got really sick. And I held him in my hands when he died. I held him in my arms, and told him I loved him, and let him go. Buried my infant son. 

“So, you see, I know all about what it’s like to lose the person you love most in the entire world.”

 

I can’t look. V won’t let me look away, but I can’t bear to see her face. Can’t bear to listen. As if she knows that I want to get away, she shakes me gently. 

“You’re Steve’s person. The person Steve loves most in the entire world. And he lost you. Do you know how fucking lucky you are that you get a second chance? No matter how horrible the circumstances that brought it about, you’ve got more time with your person. And you’re fucking wasting it being mad at him.” Her voice raises at the end, her grip tightening. 

I think I’m supposed to say something, but I don’t know what to say. I don’t think I’m the person Steve loves most in the world…. it was more that, back then, we had nobody else. “What about you?”

She quirks a brow at me. “What about me?”

“His person that he loves more than anyone else in the world.” I whisper.

For some reason this makes her laugh. “Steve is the most special person I have ever met, barring Toby. He is a truly amazing person. And I would love to be his person, but I’m not. You are- you always have been, and if you take your head out of your ass, you always will be.”

……

 

For some reason I feel surprised. I had never thought of myself as so important to Steve, but now that she brings up the possibility, I find it’s something I desperately want. To always and forever know that I am the most important person to Steve. A man who is by far the best man I have and will ever meet. And the thought of losing that terrifies me. 

“What do I do?” I ask.

V smiles. “You don’t have to do anything big. Just talk to him. Be mad at him, if you need to, but talk to him. Look at him. That’s enough.”  
I am flooded with memories of Steve, over the years. Looking at Steve, when we were kids, then when he was little, and sick, then when he was Captain America. Talking. Pulling bullies off of him before they smashed his skull in. 

Talking? I might just be able to manage. 

“Okay.”


	12. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello out there! I'm sorry that updates are coming so infrequently. I did have a break, but I was sick through the whole thing, and didn't get any writing done at all. This job is awesome, but it leaves me with barely any time at all (I even teach classes on Saturdays! boo....). So. I'm trying. 
> 
> Anyone still out there?

Steve notices something’s wrong when he sees Viola exit Bucky’s room (because it is his, now, especially with all the time he’s been spending in it in order to ignore them all). Her eyes are red and puffy enough that he knows without a doubt she’s been crying. She smiles at Steve, love and affection clear within her gaze, a smile that he knows is supposed to reassure him that she’s alright. But he needs to know what happened- needs to know that the both of them, Viola and Bucky, are okay. 

So he walks over to Viola, and lays a hand on her shoulder. He wants her to tell him what’s wrong, without making her more upset, and he’s not sure how to do that. 

“You ok?” He asks, letting the worry show in his voice and his eyes.

Viola smiles again, weaker this time. “Yep.” She answers, tilting her chin to meet his eyes. “I’m sure you’d like to know what happened…. and I think it’s time you heard the story too…. actually,” she looks away, a faintly guilty expression crossing her features, “I should have told you first. You deserve it. But Bucky needed a kick in the ass, and telling him was the right call. So. I want to tell you, and I will, but I’m fucking drained right now and I can’t go through that again.” Her expression is pleading, willing Steve to understand.

Steve has no clue what Viola’s talking about. He is curious about so many parts of her statement that he really doesn’t know where to start. But he does see her, he sees how raw and vulnerable she is right now, and he understood enough of what she said to know that she could use a little love. 

So he pushes all of his questions down, wraps her in his softest blanket, and cuddles her on the couch while they feed each other ice cream. This isn’t exactly how he planned to spend his afternoon, nor is it really something that he ever saw himself doing at any point in his life, but he feels the rightness of his choice in the way Viola melts against his body, breathing slow and deep, a small smile curled on her lips. He feels justified in his actions when he realizes that they’re sharing ice cream, and not once has she done something dirty or suggestive as she licks the spoon clean. The mere idea of the woman curled on his chest not taking advantage of such an obvious opportunity for innuendo only underscores the seriousness of her emotions. 

It’s times like these when Steve wonders what Viola would say if he told her he loves her again. Would she still say it was too soon? He feels like this is love. This feeling in his chest as he strokes her hair, what would it be if not love? 

Now isn’t the time. But soon, maybe. 

 

✰

 

Later Viola goes to climb some trees in the park and clear her head, and Steve goes to make Bucky dinner. 

He had looked in on his friend earlier, on the way to fetch ice cream, just to make sure that Bucky wasn’t in the same state as Viola (though, god, wouldn’t it be sort of great to see him react to something?). At the time, Bucky was staring off into the distance, an expression that could almost be called thoughtful- certainly not the disassociated glaze that he has seen so much since finding his friend. Steve knows Bucky well enough to tell the difference from his normal, angry, forced stare (the one he adopts when he knows Steve is watching him); this time he’s so caught up in thought that he doesn’t notice Steve at all. 

So Steve heads to Bucky’s room again, itching with desperation to know what the hell went on between the two of them (that lasted for practically an hour -- what the hell were they talking about for an hour?). Of course, asking Bucky what happened would be like talking to a brick wall. He decides to stick with his normal routine. 

“Hey buddy, what’s going on? It’s time for dinner, whaddya say we go sit in the kitchen and I’ll fix you something?” Steve tries not to put on a false cheery voice, knowing that his old friend, never mind the brainwashed Russian assassin, would hate being coddled or spoken down to. 

Bucky’s sitting up in bed, still sort of staring at the wall. But at the first sound of Steve’s voice, he jumps a little, and shakes himself out of his daze. Steve hates the way Bucky’s muscles stiffen as his awareness comes back, hates to see him become more like the Winter Soldier.

 

To Steve’s genuine amazement, Bucky nods curtly in response to his question and starts to stand up. 

Steve is flabbergasted, which means that he stands by and watches as Bucky wobbles up to standing. This probably plays to his advantage, because no matter how much Steve wants to help his one-armed, emaciated friend, he knows that help isn’t welcome. Bucky leads the way into the kitchen, and Steve finally closes his gaping mouth. 

 

✰

 

Steve has never thought so much about cooking in his life. Usually Bucky just sits in his room, and refuses to eat for the most part, anyway (which worries Steve to no end, because really, how the hell is he going to get healthy if he won’t even eat?). They tend to give him snacks that will stay good if even after sitting out for a few hours. Now that his friend is sitting here in front of him, Steve wants to make him something delicious. And then worries about his cooking skills, which are probably not up to the job. Until he looks up at Bucky, and sees the empty sleeve where his best friend’s arm should be. 

Now he’s wondering what Bucky can eat with one arm. Sandwiches are out, unless it’s something that will stick together. But soup is good. But it’s hot out. Well… nothing he needs to cut with a knife, of course, because he can’t, and Steve knows there’s no way in hell Bucky will ask Steve to cut his food for him. Fuck. Steve is overcome with the desire to make something perfect, something that is delicious and reminds them both of before the war, something that they can enjoy together while they finally start talking.

In the end, Steve just ends up making grilled cheese and tomato soup. 

He’s a little terrified when he finally serves the food and joins Bucky at the table. Bucky had remained silent while Steve cooked, letting Steve prattle on about something completely asinine, not a single word passing his lips. Now he’s wondering if this whole thing is a fluke, if maybe Bucky’s just hungry enough to put up with Steve’s presence for a short while before retreating back into his room. 

“So,” he starts, feeling simultaneously like a complete asshole for talking to a guy who wants nothing to do with him, and also hopeful that maybe something good will come, “I’m not the best cook in the world, as I’m sure you remember, but it’s pretty hard to screw up this stuff.”

He places a dish with the grilled cheese on it in front of Bucky, then goes to ladle soup into Bucky’s bowl, and almost jumps out of his skin when he feels a cold hand clamped around his wrist. Those Winter Soldier reflexes are obviously still intact. Steve forces himself not to react. 

 

“I’m not Bucky anymore.” A low, gravelly voice emanates from the curtain of hair separating Bucky from the world.

Steve is stunned.

Flabbergasted. Also confused as hell. 

“Okay. Um. What?”

“I’m not Bucky anymore.” The one-armed man repeats. “I remember things. Lots of things are jumbled but they’re there, but I’m not Bucky anymore.” He turns and looks Steve in the eye for what is probably the first time since the whole Winter Soldier thing. “You’re not getting your friend back.”

 

Steve’s heart clenches at the realization that this is the first thing on Bucky’s mind. A thousand responses chase each other through his mind, but his mouth is already starting to speak, so he lets it. “Okay.”

Bucky is still holding his wrist, the two of them locked in a strange tableau over the dinner table. He pulls the deadened look off of his face for a moment, and Steve recognizes the expression of sardonic disbelief that flashes across the other man’s face.

“No, really. I get it. You’re not Bucky. I don’t really think you get it, though. You’re my friend no matter what. You are the person who grew up with me, who fought with me, who I saw fall from that train.” They both wince at this. “So whatever you are now, whoever you want to be, you’ll always be my friend.”

Bucky scoffs, and finally lets Steve’s wrist free. His eyes navigate a path that could almost be described as a roll. 

Steve can’t have that. He starts in with his Captain America tone. “Hey. I know it’s been a lot longer for you than for me since the war, but I’m serious here. You’ve changed, and I’m not expecting you to be the Bucky from Brooklyn in 1941. I’m not that Steve anymore either.” He smiles at the thought of Bucky towering over him as did for so long. “I’m not the Steve from the war. Too much has happened in between now and then for me to ever think that things are going to be like they were back then. Lucky us, we’ve got a new world to go with our new lives and our new selves.”

Bucky doesn’t respond, and after a moment he starts eating. Steve starts in on his sandwich before a thought occurs to him. 

“So. If you’re not Bucky anymore, I guess we should find another name for you.” He sees his friend look up in surprise. “What do you think? What would you like to be called?”

Bucky’s eyebrows don’t move, but Steve can read his body language well enough to see how deeply struck his friend is. They both pause for a moment, chewing their food. As silent as Bucky is, Steve can tell he’s present, and lets the silence stand. He thinks that this question, more than any speech, might prove to the man across from him that he is serious about this. 

Eventually the assassin speaks, hesitantly. “I don’t want to make up a new name. But I’m not Bucky, either.” He pauses, as if struggling to get the thought out. “I know my name is James, but I don’t have any memories of anyone calling me that. I want to be called James.”

 

Well.

 

Steve isn’t even sad to have to stop calling him Bucky. The fact that he’s talking right now, that he’s taking an interest in something and planning for the future, it makes Steve want to shed tears of joy. He smiles the deepest, most sincere smile he has smiled since Hydra attacked, wanting to jump across the table and hug the man sitting across from him. “Okay, James. Let’s eat my crappy dinner before it gets so cold that it’s completely inedible.”

James gives the briefest hint of a smile, and Steve feels like he’s on top of the world, having earned his first genuine smile from James Buchanan Barnes since 1945. It hits him, then, the fact that they’re both here, together, after everything that has happened to the both of them. 

It feels something like winning. 

 

The two men eat companionably for a while. Then Steve clears his throat. He’s not sure how to approach the subject. “So. You and Viola had a long talk today.” 

Yeah, real smooth. 

Bucky -James- freezes for split second. He nods as he continues eating casually, but doesn’t volunteer anything else. 

God, Steve is never going to say this the right way, he might as well not even try. “She told me you two talked, and she said that she’d tell me what you talked about when she wasn’t so upset. But honestly,” he scratches the back of his neck bashfully, “as much as I want to respect that, I’m also damn curious about what she said to you, I’ve gotta admit.”

James nods. “She’ll tell you. Really, she just reminded me how lucky I am to get a second chance to be your friend after everything that’s happened to the both of us.”

Steve lets this information settle for a minute. “Yeah, I’ve been thinking the same thing, to be honest. I mean,” he chuckles, “it’s hard to believe that we even still exist now, never mind that we’re both relatively young.” He wants to say more, but nothing seems to be able to signify the scope of the shit that has gone down for the both of them. Aliens, Hydra, Gods... none of it can be boiled down simply. 

Bucky tilts his head up to look Steve in the eyes. Steve is struck by the depth of color in those eyes. His memories haven’t done them justice, and he wishes he could sit here and find the perfect blend of blues and grays to memorialize them on paper. His hands itch to sketch Bucky’s whole face, in fact- the light stubble growing on his jaw that highlights the dimple in his chin, even the hair that hangs down to his collarbone, not so greasy now, that frames his face in dark tones. 

He exists.

He exists in there, in that body that not so long ago seemed a mockery, a shell of the man that once was. James Buchanan Barnes lives still, and this seems in the moment like the most important fact on the planet. 

 

Steve is interrupted from his reverie when he realizes that B- -James- is saying something. 

“Sorry?”

“That girl of yours is a good one. Take care of her.”

Steve looks at Bucky. Really looks, tries to read his facial expression. This new, post-Winter-Soldier James is so much more closed off than Bucky ever was- God knows the man wore his heart on his sleeve, for all his playful scheming- but Steve thinks he might be figuring this new man out. Right now what he senses from the man sitting across from him is earnestness. 

So he nods. “She’s really, really amazing. I’m lucky to have her. And I’ll take care of her for as long as she’ll let me. I don’t know how long that will be, honestly; she’s spent a lot of time by herself, and even if I don’t know the reason I know that there is one. I’m not so stupid that I think that my love’s going to be the thing that changes that.”

James quirks an eyebrow at Steve, and the expression makes Steve’s heart ache for the devilish smile that used to accompany it. Without it his face reads intrigued...impressed, maybe. He says nothing.

“You know, don’t you? What it is that makes her that way.” 

It has just come to Steve, but of course that’s what she told Bucky today, what she will be telling Steve.

Bucky….James, nods once. “Not everything. But enough.”

 

Steve nods along with his friend, looking thoughtfully to the side. As much as he’d like to be mad that his friend knows some vital piece of information about his lover before he himself does, he can’t argue with the results that it has gotten. He realizes how much Viola sacrificed with that act; she gave up a vulnerable piece of herself to help his friend. Steve can repay her by being patient with her until she’s ready to share it with him. 

 

✭

 

It felt… 

 

I feel….

 

Something.

I feel something when I talk to Steve. Sitting with him and having dinner made me feel….

 

Well, isn’t it enough that it made me feel? I should be happy with that. I am so far removed from my emotions, or what they used to be, that all I know is that I remember feeling this before. 

I remember feeling this around Steve before. It feels like when I actually manage to sleep for more than a few minutes, and I don’t wake up screaming from a nightmare, instead I wake up and the bed feels soft and my body is relaxed and warm. 

That’s what I feel around Steve. 

 

I try to remember how we used to be together, how I used to be with him, and then I get mad and hate everything. I’m not going to be Bucky, I’m not Bucky, and if it were someone else, I would be furious with that person for asking me to be the person I used to be. 

It’s just that it would be so much easier if I could be him again. 

 

Sometimes I wonder if I could find some Hydra good who knew how to work the chair and force them to wipe everything that has happened since 1945. 

 

Then I remember that I killed them all. And I’m not sad about that. 

 

V comes barging into my room, hands full of paint and brushes and other things. She lays it all down with big clatter onto the floor, and grins up at me cheekily. 

I just stare at her. Aside from attacking her for coming in here, I have no idea what reaction would be appropriate. 

She doesn’t seem to mind. As she starts to pull my bed away from the wall, she asks “So, how’s it going? James?” My name she says with a smile and a wiggle of her eyebrows. That means she has spoken with Steve. I wonder what the two of them say about me. Wonder if they plan speeches and interventions, or if it’s all spontaneous. I’m not sure which would be worse. 

Then I realize I should probably respond. “What are you doing?” Probably not what normal people would say. 

But I can’t bring myself to fake normal. It reminds me too much of Hydra, of having my attitude adjusted by a machine. 

 

V just smiles at me and sing-songs “you’ll see!” She dances out of the room while I stand there, unsure of what I should be doing, and comes back in with a computer. Soon music is playing and V is singing and cleaning my wall. 

 

I definitely haven’t encountered this behavior before in any part of the horror that has been my life thus far. A very large part of me thinks that strange behavior like this means she’s spying, that I should take her down before something worse happens. 

 

I try very hard not to do that. I can’t kill the only people I know of on the planet that might genuinely want to help me. If nothing else, they’re a resource I can’t do without.

 

Then Steve comes in, and I feel relief, because he should help fix whatever the hell is going on here, and I won’t have to. But then he joins in with V, wiping the wall clean with a cloth before pulling pencils out of the jumble of paint cans on the floor. They both stand at the wall and start drawing on it with pencils. 

Viola is saying something. “I found a whole new way to love you…” She says. No, she’s singing along with music from the computer. It makes me uncomfortable, that she’s so relaxed in front of me, singing a song about love or something and shaking her hips and drawing on the wall. 

 

Images flash behind my eyes. Sounds follow. Screaming. My scream of rage and frustration and lack of understanding, first, and then V’s scream of fear and shock as I stop her from whatever is going on here. Steve’s scream of anger when he realizes I’m just a monster, then the screams of pain, of hurt….

I remember the way Steve looked at me on the Helicarrier. He’d protect V from me, and I’m grateful for that. 

 

I don’t want to hurt her, but I want my room back. 

 

I want my safe space to myself. 

 

I realize at some point that I’ve curled in on myself, and I’m muttering lowly. Rocking back and forth. Behaving like the completely crazy person I am. I don’t stop, though. 

 

They should lock me up and throw away the key. 

 

Now Steve’s got V, and Natasha and Sam. He’s got a life. Too noble to ever call it quits when he should, that’s Steve. They all seem to think that I’m going to be okay, but I can’t see it. I can’t see how I will ever be normal. I know I won’t be Bucky again. 

 

I know that Steve still thinks of me as Bucky, no matter what name he calls me. 

 

At some point I realize that I’m shaking, and it’s not me that’s doing it. It’s a hand. It’s Steve, trying to get my attention. Out of my living nightmares, sounds from reality surface.

“Bu-- James! Are you okay?” He asks. I’m gonna go out on a limb and say this isn’t the first time he’s asked. 

I nod and scoot out of his reach, unable to stand being touched right now.   
Or probably ever.

“What happened? What do you need? Was it the wall?”

I nod. Then shake my head. I don’t really know why I’m acting this way. A few days ago V did almost the same thing, barging in and making me shave my face, and that didn’t affect me like this. I realize that it’s not really about what they were doing. It’s about me and my crazy brain. I huddle even further in on myself, completely incapable of voicing my attempts at logic. 

From the corner of my eye as I rock back and forth I can see Steve standing still. I'm glad that I can't see whatever pitying expression is on his face right now. 

Then I feel a soft hand wrap around my arm. The smell of lavender wafts around me, and I'm gently tugged to standing and led until I'm lying on my bed on my left side. I keep my eyes closed, but I can feel warmth as her body snugs up to the front of mine. She even pulls my arm forward to wrap chastely around her waist. I breathe deeply in, the scent and touch and heat and sound of her breathing all soothing me, taking me out of whatever hole my mind fell into.

I can't help but jump when I feel something touch my back. No matter how kind and caring Steve is, cuddling with another man would always have been far into the realm of awkwardness. I feel distanced from reality as his body comes to rest against my back. 

Actually, we are touching from knee to shoulder, plastered together with his arm coming under mine to also rest on V's waist. He is so much warmer than she is that the muscles in my back can't help but unknot slightly. 

I breathe shakily in and out. Feel my heart as it slows back to its normal rhythm. Feel two hands intertwine with mine, thumbs and fingers lightly caressing mine. Steve's breath ghosts across my neck warmly. V hums the same song she sang that first night I was here; the song she sang as she bathed me. 

Contact. This much contact leaves me feeling exposed, like a raw nerve. I want to twitch away, curl up in a corner, sleep the sleep of the emotionally distressed black out. But they will be upset if I do that. They will worry and say things that I don't have a response for. 

What do normal people do when they are forced to lie in between two people attempting to calm you down? 

They probably like it. 

They probably relax. 

Relaxing seems like an impossible prospect but beyond that I'm out of ideas, so I try. To relax. 

My muscles twitch.

 

Steve is so warm. They both are so warm, where they touch me. It brings to mind a flash of memory too quickly gone to identify. I chase after it, trying to do whatever thing brought it to mind, and in the process settling deeper into the bodies around me. 

This brings a contented sigh from my back. 

New information. Steve is pleased because he interpreted my motion as acceptance. 

Suddenly I want to do it again. 

It is at this moment that I realize two things: first, that I have become sincerely distracted from the distress that engendered this moment; second, that my body is, in fact, slightly relaxed. I want badly to stay this way, to make my body feel something good. But I don't know how. 

"Breathe, James." Gets whispered in my ear, a wave of air trickling down my neck. My body shivers without my permission, and I suck in air. I know that the harder I try to relax, the less it will happen, so I open my eyes and turn my gaze to whatever lies in front of V.

It turns out to be the wall, the wall that Steve and V were drawing on. Now I can see what they were doing, and it arrests every thought in my head. 

 

Christ, Steve. Of course you would do this, I think. I remember his sketches, years past, and I see familiar lines in the unfamiliar shapes in front of me. 

Steve always drew people, or landscapes- real things that he could study. I envied his ability to see down to the soul of the object and turn it into something beautiful. 

This, though....

There's nothing familiar here. Shapes, in three dimensions and flat, connecting to each other and flowing across the wall. Geometric patterns, winding curls of nothing, movement and shape. It’s not finished; I can see places where lines are half drawn, pictures that have yet to fully emerge, and I know that must have been what they were working on when they noticed that something was wrong with me. 

I look again over the whole thing. I try to pick out what parts Steve has drawn and what was done by V, but I can’t really tell. I never had an eye for art like Steve does. But I keep looking, trying to imagine what will go in the places that are blank, noticing patterns, imagining colors filling the wall.

I see it. For once I understand the motivations of the people curled around me. Because any picture or painting from Steve and my youth is just a reminder of what I'm not....and there are no good memories from my time as the Winter Soldier. There's no picture in the world that would make me feel happy when I see it. It strikes me how pathetic that is. I can't even imagine myself as happy one day. 

I've seen Steve's room, in the middle of the night. I may not have my arm anymore, might be too weak to fight, but I can still sneak. Even Steve with his super hearing won't notice me if I don't want him to. So I've seen the paintings on his wall- his little piece of heaven. I can't help but hate him a little for it, how well adjusted he seems to be. He has friends, and a beautiful girl, he fights on the right side...

Steve has everything that I want. And he earned it, didn't he, the bastard. 

But what I want most of all is to forget. Wipe my brain of everything that they did to me. That I did, because of them.

 

Steve rubs my side gently, startling me out of my thoughts. I know I should say something about the wall, as he saw me looking. 

"What color will you paint it?”

The hand firmly gliding over my ribs stops. “Do you like it?” Steve asks in a choked voice. In front of me, V starts to turn, maybe to face me, but thinks better of it and turns back. She pulls my hand tighter onto her side. 

“It’s not going to give me nightmares.” 

I’m sure that’s offensive, or something, and Steve makes a sound I can’t interpret in the back of his throat. 

“You can help us choose the colors if you want,” V offers.

I shake my head, then realize that she can’t see me. “I wouldn’t know… it’s better if you two do it.”

“Well then,” Steve starts, “I’ll tell you what I was thinking…”

All three of us look at the wall, and Steve starts telling me about what they have planned for the places they haven’t filled in yet, V interjecting little comments here and there. Then he starts telling me about colors, describing them with words I’ve never heard used in that context before. In his eyes I know that the colors are swirling, blending, shifting from one to another, and I try to imagine it. 

It reminds me of when we lived in that crappy apartment in Brooklyn, before the war. Steve, smaller and sicker, describing what he learned in his drawing class with passion and excitement in his voice. 

Here I lie, pressed between the only two people on the entire planet that I don’t worry will try to kill me. Warm bodies surrounding mine, hands lightly brushing mine, a deep soothing voice in my ear.

It’s a shock at the time, but later I’m sure it will come as no surprise that, lying curled on a bed between Steve and his girl, I fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There it is. Please leave a comment and let me know what you think!


	13. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look! I wrote a chapter! It's not abandoned after all!.
> 
> So, I suck. I've realized that there's really, truly, no calm times here, teaching at a private boarding school. And then there's breaks, but I have kids and so there's never really... free time. Which sucks. But this chapter is a little bit longer, if that makes up for it?
> 
> It's funny how things turn out, and sometimes the situations you put the characters in lead you in different directions than you expected. So. Let me know what you think.
> 
> And if you're still reading, commenting, kudosing, etc., THANK YOU!!!

Steve is violently awoken by being thrown off the bed. Instantly awake, his eyes snap up to Bucky (James, he wants to be called James now) who is scrambling from the bed to the corner, his back pressed against the wall, crouched in on himself.

Steve's eyes flit to Viola and relief overwhelms him when he finds her kneeling on the other side of the bed, shocked but unharmed. Her eyes are on James, her body still and focused completely. He can see her assessing his terrified friend in the corner, trying to decide whether he will attack or not. A moment later, although her outward appearance remains unchanged, he can sense that she has relaxed and is ready to help.

It occurs to Steve at this moment that every person that he’s close to (Viola, Bucky, Natasha, Sam, the other Avengers, even…) can make the transition from asleep to awake at the drop of a hat. He wonders if that could be considered a sign of mental or emotional damage. It certainly relates to what he knows about PTSD. He’s damn sure that every single one of them suffers that to one extent or another, Bucky being the worst. And needing to be talked down right now. 

Bucky -James, damn it- is still backed against the wall, coming closer and closer to hyperventilating, lone hand clenched into a fist. Steve knows exactly what’s going on in his head right now; the confusion, disorientation, turmoil. He imagines it’s even worse than normal right now because James can’t decide how to react to the two people that were wrapped around him a short time ago. 

 

Friend or foe? Steve can sympathize. Hell, he wishes that he had had this problem when he was going through the worst of his PTSD… being all alone definitely isn’t better in this case. 

He sits down, resting his hands on his legs where Bucky can see them. From the corner of his eye he can see Viola slowly doing the same. 

Should Steve tell Bucky the date and time? Will it help in this case? He’s really, really not sure. If he had been frozen on and off for years, being reminded of the date might not be the best way to help break him out of his nightmare.

 

So they wait. 

 

They breathe, and they sit as still as they can, showing James how relaxed their bodies are, non-threatening. 

 

And they wait.

 

Two minutes later, Bucky’s breathing slows slightly. Three minutes after that, his hand flexes and unclenches. Finally, eventually, Bucky sighs and his shoulders release, and Steve unconsciously does the same. 

Viola stands, stretching luxuriously and making Steve desperately want to kiss and lick at the exposed skin of her belly and back. He wants to drag her into his bedroom and slowly uncover her piece by piece until she’s begging for him to fuck her. 

 

He fully plans on putting that little fantasy into action later today. But Bucky’s not okay yet, not really. 

“I feel like eggs for breakfast. What do you think?” Viola throws out into the room.

Steve rushes to respond. “Eggs sound great.”

Viola laughs, her face lighting up. “With you, that means a dozen eggs, and some bacon, and toast as well. I’m gonna go get started on all of that. Breakfast should be ready in ten, boys.”

Steve is so grateful for this woman. The way she extended the invitation to Bucky without putting him on the spot, the fact that she’s giving him time right now to check in with his best friend. He’s dead set on his seduction plans now. 

Steve stands and shuffles his feet a bit. “I bet a shower sounds good right now. If you want you can hop in and I’ll find something clean for you to wear.”

 

To his relief, Bucky nods and moves towards the door. Steve can’t hold back his sigh; the man who spoke, who allowed him and Viola to touch him and sleep wrapped around him, is still here. For the first time, Steve has hope that James is here to stay… that tomorrow, and the day after that, the man that has been his best friend for almost a century will continue to speak, and eat, and come back to life. 

 

✭

 

V is at the sink washing dishes. “Hey James, c’mere.” She calls, gesturing me over with a jerk of her head. I go. Part of me feels curious, excited that she wants to talk with me; the other part slinks over like a dog with its tail between its legs, worried it’s going to get hit. I try to push it down. I know where it’s coming from, that feeling, know that it’s been pushed into my mind with things I can’t bring myself to think about, and I feel like knowing that should make it easier to make that feeling go away. 

Only it really doesn’t. All of those feelings are still there, lurking underneath the surface. 

What makes it better is the fact that for every horrible subconscious remnant of the programming, there’s a memory waiting to be unearthed from Before. My head is a jumble of far, far too many years, far too many people, far too many personalities, far too many places, far too much torture; but the good memories are somewhere in there, too, and it always feels like a treat when one is pushed to the surface. It makes me want to stay with Steve forever, because he’s the one who brings the memories up where I can see them. And the more I get to see them, the longer they stay. They stay where I can call them back, and it makes this place feel less like another nightmare and more like the real world. 

 

I realize I’m staring off into space, and I shake myself out of it, ducking my head so I don’t have to look at V and see whatever expression is on her face. I dart my eyes up, glancing through my hair, but she doesn’t look angry or impatient or weirded out -- what I see on her face is the same expression I see all the time, a small smile curling over her lips, her eyes kind and somewhat mischievous. I smile back at her, brushing the hair out of my eyes now as I remember that she’s not going to be angry with me. 

She takes that as a cue to continue. “So… I was wondering how you feel about hanging out with Sam today.” Her face is calm, watching mine for a reaction. I try not to have a bad one. Honestly, I don’t really know what my face looks like anymore. V waits a beat, and when I don’t say anything, goes on. “All of that stuff that I told you, the other day?” 

That grabs my attention. She sees it, and smiles wryly. “Yeah, well…. I figure it’s finally time to tell Steve. I was gonna take him out of here, have a nice long chat with him. But we won’t go if you want us here, either me or Steve. It’s not a big deal, so if you don’t feel like hanging out with Sam, just say the word, ok?”

Somehow it’s easier hearing these words from V than from Steve. I can picture the noble, concerned expression on Steve’s face as he’d ask me… and of course it’d be genuine. From V, even though the words are pretty much the same, she’s more relaxed about it. She’s not trying to hide what she wants, not trying to steer me one way or the other -- it really isn’t a big deal.

For a moment I feel...something. A loss? Disappointment? ...I can no longer identify the emotions… about the fact that this secret that we share, this secret that V keeps, isn’t going to be just between the two of us any longer. I had trusted her more after she told me; does this mean I should trust her less? No, I decide. I trusted her because she shared something intimate, something that gave me power. The power is still there. Plus, Steve…. well, Steve will say the right things to V about it all, the things that I should have said but can’t anymore. Because I’m not good with words like I know I used to be.

It’s been a while since V asked me the question, but she’s just waiting, wiping down the counters now that the dishes are done. I nod once, not wanting to share my thoughts with her. 

She smiles. “Okay, then. We’ll be off in a little bit. Have fun with Sam, and wish me luck!”

She doesn’t need me to say it, I know that… but it’s one thing that isn’t hard or confusing to get out, just a turn of phrase. “Good luck.”

V smiles wider at that, her brown eyes crinkling, and I duck behind my hair again, unable to stare into the face of happiness. 

 

✪

 

I am walking around the apartment later, too awake and aware to curl into myself like normal, but with no idea what to actually do, when Sam comes through the door. “James! Just the poorly attired man I was looking for.” He says as he smiles, walking closer but leaving me plenty of space. 

I wait. When he doesn’t explain his comment, I raise my eyes to meet his. 

He rubs his hands together. “Whaddya think, buddy? What say you and I go shopping and get you into something that actually fits you?” His face is serious, and I cannot tell whether he is making a joke or not. 

I stay still. “Why?”

 

Sam grins and rubs his palms together. “ Exhibit A,” he gestures dramatically towards me, “James Buchanan Barnes: who is currently sporting the Hobo Look, never in fashion. Notice the clothes that are almost falling off, the straggly hair, the scruffy beard, even if it’s better than before V got ahold of you.” He speaks to an imaginary audience. “Everyone has the right to clothes that fit their body and don’t constantly try to fall off. Every person has the unalienable right to not look like a Hobo. Actually, that’s a seriously insult to Hobos everywhere, including V. Everyone has the right to not see your junk when those pants can’t hold on any more. Only you can prevent fashion disasters. This Public Service Announcement was brought to you by Samuel Wilson. Thank you.” He finishes with a bow.

I frown at him, not sure what to say. He smiles and shrugs. “Hey, you know it’s not about fashion. But you need more clothes than whatever of Steve’s has a drawstring you can tie tight enough to fit your skinny, malnourished white ass.” I huff at this, and he smiles, then grows serious. 

“You know I help vets, right?” I nod. “Clothes can be really damn hard with one arm.” That’s it. I scowl, and move to turn away. It’s their fault in the first place that I’ve only got one arm. I can’t stand to think about how goddamn helpless I am with only one arm, so weak to begin with, and now I can’t even cut my food, or tie a shoelace, or do fucking anything…

“I’ve helped guys before, who have NO arms, you know. I’ve seen a lot of vets come through the VA, and not that many of ‘em came through without something to deal with. Out of everybody you know, I’m the one who’s gonna be the most useful to you in figuring out how to get around all the bullsit that comes with missing an arm. I’m the one who’s gonna help you work things out. And I’m offering that help right now, buddy. Walk away if you want ‘cause you’re pissed off. You’ve got a right to be, with all the shit that’s been done to you. But I’m offering you help, and it’ll make your life easier. Just a thought.” 

Sam had started with a smile on his face, but now his face was sober, earnest, his hands up by his shoulders as if to brush everything off. I want to be mad… hell, I AM mad, but he’s right- he’s not the one who hurt me, and I could use a pair of pants that stay up. 

It takes me a while, in the end, to say yes. But as soon as I do, Sam smiles a big, bright smile and starts toward the door. “I’ve got plans for you, man. I know just where to go to get you better clothes. I mean, a haircut wouldn’t be a bad idea, either, but I have a feeling you’re not super interested in having a stranger standing behind you with super sharp cutting implements, am I right?” He glances back at me, and I nod, which seems to be enough for him to keep going on about different hairstyles he thinks I’d like, and then different hairstyles he’s had, and in the end Sam talks all the way down to the car.

✪

 

“Okay, man,” says Sam behind me as he hustles me into a small closet, “we’ve got two looks going for you today.” He hangs an armful of clothes up on a hook on the wall, and then stands in the doorway, leaning casually against the doorframe. 

“This round of clothes, you’re gonna do by yourself. This is Amputee Barnes’ wardrobe, so if you can’t get it on by yourself, we’re not gettin’ it.” I nod, ready to start the process, but then he adds “but that doesn’t mean you can get out of showing them to me!” 

I look up, alarmed. 

Sam nods, white teeth flashing with his grin. “Oh yeah, buddy. It’s required. You’ve gotta show off your new outfits, and I’ve gotta tell you how awesome you look. It’ll be great. You ready? Get started.”

I haven’t even begun to nod, but Sam doesn’t wait for my okay, he just shuts me into the closet. 

I stand there for a moment, staring at the door. Wondering why I am in a closet in a store. Wondering how I let myself get talked into this. 

 

I remember being the one who did the talking, a million years ago. Before I was ruined. 

 

 

Might as well get this over with. I strip out of my clothes, and turn around to get the new ones. I pause, frozen in shock, at the sight of my own body. There’s a mirror here, all the way down the wall, and this is the first time I’ve looked at myself in a very, very long time. 

 

Because it’s been easy to ignore the small mirror over the sink, to ignore my face as I pass it by. 

But even then, had I looked, I would never have tried to look at the rest. And now it’s here, and I realize that I literally haven’t seen my body since before I went to war. Before I had any real scars to speak of at all. Before I lost my arm, before they took me, before I became a monster. 

 

I don’t recognize myself. 

 

My ribs stick out, and a straggly patch of hair trails across my chest. I remember having chest hair, before, but I don’t remember any as the Winter Soldier. Suddenly I wonder why the hell they would take it off. 

Then I don’t want to know anymore. 

 

My skin is dry and dull, a sickly pale color that I don’t recognize as mine. My hair is limp and long, far longer than it seems from my viewpoint. 

I glance at my own face for a moment, and can’t bear any longer than that. It’s too wrong. 

 

I don’t look like that. My face shouldn’t look so…. dead.

 

If I don’t stop thinking about this right now I’m going to end up screaming on the floor, so I turn my gaze instead to my arm. My lack of arm. The fucked-up scarred metal protrusion where The Weapon used to lie. 

Honestly I haven’t touched it since they took my arm away. Haven’t let my hand come near it. I knew, I think I knew at least, that there was still metal there. Must have heard them talking about it, over the years, about how they put metal inside me, my collarbone and shoulder blade and ribs and even my spine. Where my shoulder should be is a depression, a metal coupling that must join the metal from my bones to my arm. The metal is surrounded by a thick, ugly ridge of scars. Scars from where they cut into my body without my permission. After which they tortured me. 

 

Goddamn it.

 

Suddenly my breathing is getting faster and I want so fucking badly to rip out every part of what they put inside me. I want it all OUT, I need to have it all come out of me, I can’t stand to live with pieces of them inside my body, next to my heart, all over me. Wantitoutgetitout. NOW. Nownownownownow I can’t stand this anymore, this person can’t be me. I’m not dead, I look dead, they did this to me, I can’t get it out oh GOD, oh god oh god oh god oh god please help me. Help me, help me, HELP ME.

 

“JAMES!”

I shudder and twitch and I’m on my knees now, how did I get here? Everything feels like it does right after they wake me up from the ice, all foggy and slow, like the air is thick. I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe, it feels like there’s water in my lungs. 

 

Hands grab my shoulders, and I let them. I’m not supposed to fight when they move me, because I’m not a person. I’m a thing. They’re pulling me around, and the world changes in front of my eyes but I can’t figure out what I’m seeing anyway, and it doesn’t matter because I’m a machine, not a person. This is a good thing. Machines don’t feel pain. They don’t want. They don’t feel at all. 

 

Hands wrap around my body, and I am pressed against something warm. I flinch at the warmth, the soft smooth slide of…..skin? against mine. What is happening? 

 

No. I’m not there. I’m here, at the…..

oh, shit. 

 

At the store, with Sam.

 

Sam whose naked chest is pressed against mine. Whose arms are wrapped around mine. 

“That’s it, James. Take some nice deep breaths. There you go, buddy.”

 

My ankle and knee are in agony from the way I’m sitting on them, all of my weight pressing the bones into the hard ground. My chest feels hot, and I realize that even though I’m shirtless in an air conditioned store, I’m sweating. And cold. Tingly, too. 

I sit back, and Sam lets me part from him, but keeps a firm hand on my shoulder. I pull my shirt over to me from the floor and use it to wipe the sweat from my body, the tears from my eyes. I wince as the fabric touches my left shoulder- it stings. 

A hiss of inhaled breath brings Sam’s attention to the same place. “Shit, man. You scratched that up good.” He’s right about that. I must have been tearing at it pretty hard. Why can’t I remember doing that?

“We’ll get you patched up when we get home, ok? For now, let’s just work on getting your head on straight.” I nod, which is about as much response as I can manage right now. 

 

So we sit. Sam keeps his hand firmly pressed into my shoulder, and it grounds me. 

 

I’m not sure how long we sit, but eventually I’m able to pick up my head and look around. 

And remember that we’re in a store. I had a mental breakdown in a clothing store. 

An exasperated moan escapes my lips. Sam looks at me with concern, and, shaking my head, staring at the ground, I explain. “I just went crazy in public. A very public place. I’m just wondering how bad it’s gonna be when we have to walk through the store to leave.”

Sam shakes his head. “Nah, man, I’ve got you covered. Half of the reason we came to this particular store is that the manager’s a vet, a friend of mine. He knows all about how hard it is to reacclimate. Don’t worry about anyone else- they can think whatever they want. If they’ve got a problem with it, well… fuck ‘em. But we’re not gonna get asked to leave.”

 

I nod and exhale a deep breath. “What do I do now?”

“We should celebrate! You got through your first panic attack. That deserves celebration.”

Is that what that was? I don’t know anything about panic attacks, and Sam picks up on my obvious confusion.

He groans. “God, therapy for really, really old guys is a whole different ballgame.” He peers at me. “It was the mirror, right?” I nod. He shakes his head in dismay, a swear punctuating the motion. “I knew it! Normally when we get vets into the VA, it’s part of therapy, way before they ever go in public. I didn’t think about it until you were already here. Not surprised that you never looked into a mirror at Steve’s.”

I nod. “Actually, I don’t think I saw myself in the mirror, you know, and actually was aware enough to recognize myself, the whole time I was the Winter Soldier.”

Sam whistles. “Shit, man. That’s a long fuckin’ time. I bet you look a hell of a lot different now.”

We share a look of understanding.

“You wanna know what I see when I look at you?” Sam asks.

I snort. Shrug. 

“I see a survivor. All those scars, all that shit that’s been done to you, and you made it out the other side. The kind of man who survives everything they did to you, that’s a damn strong man. That man can do anything he puts his mind to.”

Seriously? I can’t help but roll my eyes at that. Sam shrugs his shoulders, hands raised. “Hey. You’re entitled to your opinion, and I’m entitled to mine. I’m gonna keep on believing that the man sitting in front of me is strong. You can believe whatever the hell you want. We’ll see who gets proven right.” 

 

I rustle around until my head leans comfortably back against the closet wall. After a moment of peaceful silence, my body slowly falling out of the last of its panic, I roll my head around to look at Sam.

“So….you’re not wearing a shirt.”

Sam looks at me, and I look back at him. The awkwardness of the moment escalates for a moment, and then the two of us burst into laughter.

We giggle hysterically at one another, bodies convulsing with laughter, and for a moment I am gloriously free of everything else, caught up this moment of ridiculousness. I feel weightless.

Then it sinks into me that I’m laughing. I’m laughing. When was the last time I did that? Images of snow, mountains, and a train come to mind and I’m not laughing any more. 

Sam must see when it hits me, because he stops laughing, too, although he keeps the smile on his face. 

I look to him, so lost. Completely at a loss as to how to exist in this world, knowing the sum of what has happened in the past. It feels as if I will never be able to move forward against it, that the tragedy and horror of what I have to call my life will always be a shackle pulling me back down. Making me a monster. Because how can I laugh? How can I ever be normal?

“Hey, I’m not the only one who’s naked here.” Sam’s voice intrudes on my thoughts, and I gratefully take the lifeline and pull myself out of my thoughts. 

“Yeah, but I had a reason to have my shirt off. You, on the other hand…..” I raise an eyebrow at him. Want to get that fleeting feeling of normalcy back. 

Sam throws up his hands. “You know, I’d love to tell you that it’s because I couldn’t bear not to touch your sexy body with mine, you know,” I snort again, and he grins, “but the truth is skin-to-skin contact releases endorphins that send the message that you’re safe up to that brain of yours. Good way to pull you out of your head.”

Part of me feels ashamed, knows that normal people don’t have panic-whatevers just from looking at themselves in a mirror. I ignore all of those feelings- want to keep forever the little bit of ease that has settled into my stomach. I find Sam’s shirt and toss it in his face. “Great, wonderful, now cover up your shame.” He laughs, and I smile just a little. 

Sam pulls his shirt on and pulls me up from the floor, bracing my elbow. As I struggle to get my shirt back on, he gathers all of the clothes that I was supposed to try on and opens the door.

Relieved that we’re done, I follow him out the door, pushing past him to make for the exit as quickly as possible.

“Whoa there, buddy, you can’t get out of this that easily!”

I feel a gentle tug on the back of my shirt. Shit. 

I turn to look at Sam, who has stopped outside another of the stupid closet rooms, this one bigger. “But…. please, Sam?”

I used to be so damn good at getting people to do what I want. 

And then I spent seventy years brutally killing people. On the orders of people who electrocuted my brain to get me to do what they wanted. 

 

Sam sighs and looks at me. I look back at him, awkward and uncomfortable, unsure what he’s looking for or how I can get him to leave. 

He shakes his head. “Nope! If you leave now you’ll never come back.” At my groan, he nudges my shoulder, then pushes me into the room. I sit down on the bench I find there, and Sam starts hanging up the clothes in his arms. 

 

“Here’s how it’s gonna go, ok?” He says, as he works. “We’re gonna do this super fast. Clothes on, clothes off, I’ll make all the decision about what looks good, you tell me if it feels okay, we’re done. I know you don’t wanna be here.”

I sigh. I know he means well just as surely as I know that if I actually cared, I would be ashamed of how ridiculous I look it Steve’s way-too-big sweats. I nod, and prepare myself.

 

✪

 

The day started…..

Well. The day didn’t exactly start off well.

But Steve had started his day off with hope that things were heading towards good. 

And he had left with Viola to spend some time alone. As much as Steve loves Bucky, he had recently started feeling a little like a parent, and he appreciated getting a little time with his best girl to reconnect without anyone else interrupting. 

 

Now Steve is punching the shit out of a heavy bag, so badly needing to break something, smash something, hurt the people who hurt her. 

This is the worst feeling in the world. To know that Viola went through something so painful, so damaging. And there isn’t a thing he can do about it. There isn’t a bad guy to fight, there isn’t a war to wage, there’s nothing. Nothing he can do to make it better.

Things like this happen all the time. Tragedies that occur every day to ordinary people, none of whom deserve to witness such horrors. Steve knows how to fight the big things, aliens, Hydra, Hitler. He has no idea how to make this better. 

Before the serum, Steve felt impotent all of the time. He was poor, weak, sick, no prospects to be had. After, there were immediate steps to take. Help the war. Rescue Bucky. Save the world. He had never gotten a chance to live in a peaceful world after the serum, and now he knows how it feels, to be powerful, smart, to have every advantage, and still be helpless against life. 

Steve remembers babies dying, in his youth. It was harder, back then, to reach adulthood. More common for disease to strike the very young. He doesn’t remember it being any easier to bear. Mrs. Smith, in the apartment down the hall, sobbing hysterically as they went to bury baby Daisy. Mrs. Smith, afterwards, growing thinner and quieter, collapsing under the burden of staying alive in a world without her daughter. 

 

He punches harder. 

 

✫

 

Viola takes him to the same mountain that they hiked early in the summer, what feels like forever ago. Steve’s life has changed so much since then. As they climb in companionable silence, Steve reflects on how much things have changed for him. He can recognize, now, that before Hydra, before he knew that Bucky was alive, he was at the least self-destructing, at the worst suicidal. Couldn’t handle adjusting to this new, lonely world. He sees just how far he’s come since; he could probably accurately pronounce himself integrated into the future. His life and mind have become so stable that he’s attempting to help James get himself back.

Steve can’t help snort a little at the idea of him helping anyone through the kind of emotional crisis that James is facing. He doesn’t think that there’s a person alive with a history close to James. Of course, Steve would be helping him, no matter what. He takes a moment to be thankful that he actually can be of some real help to James. He’d like to give back a little of what James gave him before the war. 

 

When the reach the top of the mountain, Viola and Steve bask in the sun and the breeze. 

They lie together, limbs entwined, as Viola tells Steve her darkest secrets. Her nightmares. As she strips herself bare for Steve. 

He listens. He holds her hand to begin, but has to stop when he realizes that he’s squeezing too hard, and the way the story is going, he’s going to hurt her if he doesn’t get himself under control. 

Steve tries as hard as he can to keep himself calm. To breathe. To give Viola’s story and vulnerability the respect it deserves by not reacting. This isn’t about him.

But when Viola...this wonderful, beautiful, spectacular woman that has changed his life forever…, when Viola looks Steve in the eyes and tells him about the day her son died, a tear slips down his cheek. Then another. He doesn’t move, doesn’t let go of her hand to wipe the tears away. Just lets them fall, looking at Viola and letting her see everything. It’s the only payment he can give for the gift she’s giving him. 

 

When she is done, they lie there for a long moment, still wrapped up in one another, silent, communing through their gaze. Steve’s hand squeezes tighter around Viola’s. Then, as if he were an asteroid falling into a black hole, he falls into her, kissing her face, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her to him as he rolls her onto her back. He can’t get close enough. He burrows into her until she wraps her legs around him. Runs his hands over every inch of skin he can find, rucking her shirt up to gain access to more before he finally backs off and pulls it over her head, his as well for good measure, so they can get even closer.

He can feel the wetness of his tears on her face. Or are those her tears? It hardly matters because right now kissing Viola is the only thing that he can manage; he needs to feel her like he needs air. And she is pulling just as desperately at Steve, pulling his head down to kiss him deeper, their tongues thrusting at each other furiously, sending a thrill of arousal down Steve’s spine. 

All he feels is the need for catharsis, the need to make everything better, the need to show her the only way he knows how how very much he loves her. There are no words, but he can show her with his body. So his fingertips ghost up her sides, her arms, until he feels her shiver and moan. He works them towards her nipples, circling them with the lightest touch, while his hips pin her to the ground. Her nails rake down his back, hard, and Steve growls in pleasure. He bites her lip, and when she arches up into him, he bites it again. Licks and sucks and bites all the way down her neck while her hands thread through his hair, leaving a perfect ache when she pulls, pressing him down into her (as if he’d ever pull away). 

His mouth finds its way back to hers with unerring accuracy, their tongues colliding again as he rips the button on her pants open. He keeps his mouth connected to hers as he pulls his hips back, pushing and shoving her pants down her legs, one hand already seeking her wetness while the other pulls her pants off. Now he circles her clit, dipping a finger into her wetness then circling again while his mouth finds her nipple, pulling at it ever so gently with his teeth. Viola’s hands scrabble at his pants, and as soon as she has pushed them down over his ass her hands are pulling him toward her, stroking his erection which, oh god, feels too good, and then he’s sliding into Viola. 

They stop, then, and there’s a pause where they do nothing but look into each other’s eyes. No words, still, but now they are connected, now they are one. When Steve starts moving again it is to lean his head down and press a gentle, chaste kiss onto Viola’s lips. Her lips press back, and when he gazes down on her, her face….

God, he loves this woman. 

Steve inches his cock out and back in. The tone has changed now from desperate, frenzied sex to lovemaking. Viola’s lips rise to meet his, then at the last minute pull away teasingly. He smiles, and chases her mouth back down as his hips drive to meet hers. Again. Again. Again. He doesn’t ever want to stop this- his body is filled with the perfect mix of love and pleasure, arousal and connection, fun and sex and devotion all filling him up to the brim. 

As Steve’s body meets Viola’s over and over, he feels filled with light and warmth. His body, skin to skin with hers, feels flames of pleasure licking up his spine and giving her the same; but he also feels light and warmth filling his heart, making him full to bursting with the love and protectiveness and possessiveness and worry and admiration that he feels for her. His mind is equally alight, full of awe and reverence and everything he can’t even name….

He can’t help it. As he moves over her, hands stroking over her sides, pushing the hair back from her face, pulling himself as close into her as he can get, he can’t control the feeling welling out of his entire being. He has lost awareness of anything that is not her. And so his blue eyes meet her beautiful brown ones, and the words leave him without his permission, ghosting from his lips to hers.

“I love you.”

Steve is wrapped around Viola’s body, as close as he could possibly be, and so he feels her muscles tense. There is a split second of panic that flashes through his mind: what did he say? why did he say that? Oh god. She’s freaking out. Oh no. 

But before he can pause his thrusts, before he can do anything, he feels the tightness of her muscles increase, and then she tenses around his cock, and her head falls back as she comes, soft, raw cries pouring from her mouth. 

Steve can’t help but follow her, pulling her closer as he loses himself to his orgasm, white fading over his vision. His muscles relax as the endorphins wash over him, but he fights off the lassitude he feels, anxious to see Viola’s face. To see how his statement was received. Steve props himself up on an elbow, still buried deep in Viola’s body but unable to bring himself to put any space between the two of them. He looks down at V. Her curls are wild, thrown out in every direction from her face, where her eyes are still closed, her breath coming hard from her lips. And as he lies there, arms still wrapped around her, he hears a hitch in her breath, and now she is crying. Sobbing. Tears running down the side of her face, her body wracked with the force of her emotions. 

At a complete loss as to what to do, as to whether he is the cause of her sorrow or not, Steve shushes her quietly, comfortingly. Runs his hand soothingly up and down her back, presses gentle kisses into her hair. Viola, still shaking with some unnamed emotion, pulls his body closer to hers, and he takes this as a cue to soothe her more. He is terrified- she has never broken down like this. She has, not half an hour past, told Steve the story of how her son died, and even then she was still in control- allowing tears to come, yes, but nothing like this. Nothing so very vulnerable as this. 

Steve keeps his eyes on her and so he notices the second she swallows down her tears and smiles up at him, her breath still hitching, trying to find equilibrium. Her hand moves up to his face, and she whispers up at him, a thousand unidentifiable emotions swirling through her eyes. 

“I love you too.”

 

✭

 

Steve hits the bag until his arms feel like they are going to fall off. Panting, he rests his forehead against the bag lightly, allowing himself to cool off. He had come in here wanting to get it all out, to vent his frustration where Viola couldn’t see him. He had needed to fight something. 

His phone rings. He doesn’t bother walking over and picking it up- he knows it will be Sam. (Neither Bucky nor Viola has a phone, and he knows Natasha isn’t calling.) He’ll head home once he’s calmed down, cleaned up, and showered. Once he can face Viola again without   
showing her how much this has shaken him. When he can focus on the love she has to share. 

 

Walking up to his apartment, Steve takes a deep breath. So much has changed since this morning, when the three of them were sleeping peacefully wrapped up in each other. His thoughts flit to James; will he be ok? Steve has been so encouraged by the little signs of life that James has been showing lately. He has to hope that there is progress in their future. Steve is determined to help, no matter how long it takes. 

The door opens and the scene inside reminds Steve just how far his life has come. A year ago he was coming home to an empty apartment, throwing himself into danger, barely living. Now his living room is filled with laughing friends. Viola is lying on the couch, bent in two she is laughing so hard at the story Sam is telling. Steve moves into the room, picking Viola up so that she can lie across his lap instead, and Sam reels him into the tale, telling them all about Sam and James' adventures in clothes shopping. 

As funny as Sam's story is, Steve only has eyes for James. James, who is sitting with them, shy and silent, but part of the group, giving little smiles every now and then in response to Sam's story. As the tale unfolds, Steve looks to James with worry, and then with admiration. When James' grey- blue eyes finally flicker up to meet his, Steve sees pride flicker in his gaze.

He can’t speak. Can’t bring himself to break the moment. Instead he focuses all of his energy on sealing this image in his memory forever: the first time that Steve has seen Bucky (not the Winter Soldier, not James, but his best friend, the real Bucky), in almost seventy years. Now there is hope.


	14. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOOK AT THIS. Do you see this?? This is me posting after months and months and months!!
> 
> Ok, I'm a shit. Teaching at a boarding school is awesome for about a million different reasons, but it gives me NO TIME. And then I planned a whole sex ed day, and I thought after that there would be time... no. And then the end of the year rolled around and I had a massive breakdown and so I'm finally, finally!! Back.
> 
> Sorry. Phew.
> 
> I'm not gonna guarantee quick chapters, because I'd be lying. And even with school out of session, writing with a toddler is near impossible. But. Please. Let me know what you think. Let me know if you're like, "Hey I don't care about this fic cause you took too long updating it." Yeah. That and all concrit welcomed.
> 
> Enjoy!

James Buchanan Barnes is a cat.

Steve has obviously spent far too much time in the past couple of weeks staring at the man who occupies his spare room.

He’s not ashamed of it, not exactly. He’d like to think that he’s made a study of his friend. The man who was his very best friend, seventy years ago. The man who he’s been looking for for months, ever since he tried to kill Steve and then saved Steve’s life. He’s not searching for the man he grew up with, he’s really, actually not. But he’s started to notice things about James, and he can’t help but extrapolate from them.

Steve and Viola are sitting on the couch, curled over their sketchpads, bodies angled in towards each other as they share their work. Viola is stuck on her next piece of graffiti, venting and joking to Steve about the fact that every idea she comes up with seems to fall flat. Her brown curls are flying everywhere, her eyes sparkling, life pouring from her even in moments of frustration. In contrast, James is curled up in the corner. Steve can tell by his face that he’s floating; sometimes present in the room, sometimes caught in whatever memory is playing in his head. As Viola attempts to revise an idea, Steve’s own hand leads him to sketch the lines of James’ face. 

Which brings him back to the fact that James Buchanan Barnes is a cat. No matter the year, no matter who is controlling his brain, the guy is so catlike that Steve is tempted to sketch him with tall, furred ears and whiskers. 

If he thinks about Bucky- his best friend for years and years, the boy he grew up with, he knows instantly he’s a tomcat. Steve can’t think about himself as a teen without picturing Bucky with a smirk on his face, flirting with the prettiest girl he could find. Bucky never hesitated to jump into a fight, a fierce predator, but his focus would inevitably find its way back to girls. There might even be a picture in Steve’s sketchbook of a cat, dark brown hair and blue eyes, saucily rubbing himself against the exact type of sassy dame that Bucky couldn’t resist.

 

The whole idea has actually helped, he thinks.

Because he knows that Bucky is the Winter Soldier is James. He knows that they’re the same man, and seeing the parallels between arguably completely different lives and personalities helps him remember. 

He searches for the differences in the face staring blankly out into space. What has changed since 1945? His face used to be so expressive, always a smirk or a smile at the edge of breaking through. After, the Winter Soldier was blank. His mouth drawn down, not in a frown, but with the absolute absence of any sort of smile; neutral. Inhuman. 

Although Steve knows that the eyes in front of him did not change color, he remembers staring in shock at a flat, icy blue, that day everything went to hell. Steve has always thought of Bucky’s eyes as a fascinating mix of the deepest blue and slate gray, depending on mood and weather and a million other things that led him to search his friend’s eyes and discover their color in every different situation. 

When Viola nuzzles deeper into his side Steve shakes out of his stupor, realizing that he’s been staring at James’ face for untold minutes. Heat settles over his face, and he feels strangely guilty, settling himself back into his sketch of who else but the very man he’s been gawking at. 

Or...not really. This new sketch is Bucky, back in the war, blue coat and sniper rifle and all. Steve can’t remember which of the Hydra bases they were attacking, but he remembers turning back to salute at Bucky after he’d picked off a Hydra soldier about to sneak up on Steve. Are they the same man? 

Bucky during the war definitely wasn’t a tomcat. Steve doesn’t know if he had started the war out that way, but by the time Steve had rescued his best friend from Hydra, he was both more serious and more deadly. A lynx comes to mind, quiet and strong, swift and silent. That’s not to say that Bucky never smiled during the war, or joked, but looking back now it’s easy for Steve to see the weight that he had carried after his torture. At the time it was easy to do the opposite: to assume that the man at his side was the same man who had always been there, the same Bucky Barnes. 

Steve curses himself for not realizing what had happened in that room. For being so busy being Captain America that he didn’t notice how different his friend was from before the war. On his paper, an overly muscled caricature of himself in the suit fights with Red Skull, dumbly ignoring the Bucky-cat morphing into a lynx. 

And, of course, if Bucky during the war was a lynx, then the Winter Soldier is a panther- a deadly, massive cat all in black. The Winter Soldier-panther doesn’t back down when threatened; he attacks. He is well aware of the power that his body holds, and he doesn’t have to run to stalk his prey- he walks calmly, sure in every way of his lethality.

 

Steve leans his head back and closes his eyes for a moment. The likening of the two is too close. Viola elbows him, and his eyes open to look as his head tilts toward her. She returns his gaze, silently questioning, chocolate brown eyes framed with long, dark, lashes. It takes a deep breath before he’s able to pull a smile onto his face and lean down to peck a kiss onto her lips in response. 

It is the ultimate answer, really. No matter what has happened, in the far past, while he was in ice, or today, James Buchanan Barnes is a cat. Which means that the man sitting in front of him is the man he grew up with. 

The same, and different. 

 

And Steve knew this, of course he did. It’s just….

 

It just needed to be said. Metaphorically speaking. It needed to be thought through, from start to finish.

 

Steve sighs, this time with just a hint of relief. 

 

Of course, the burning question becomes: what kind of cat is he now?

 

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦

 

Things are both good and not good. I am fine, and then I am filled with gut-clenching dread and fear, unable to move or act or do anything at all. 

There are times that I can forget, and times I can do nothing but remember the horror that I have caused in the name of someone else’s crusade.

The people that surround me are amazing, interfering, and I do not deserve them. 

And Steve… Well. I try not to think about the implications of Steve. 

 

V is amazing. Sam is, as well. Steve is lucky to have them in his life, and they are lucky to have him. It’s me that doesn’t fit in; they all are happy, healthy, normal people. I am not. 

In the course of an hour I swing. I start at calm, relaxed, happy even. Distracted from the insanity within by the people around me. They cook food and joke and talk, and I forget. I forget, and I sink into their lives and their world and what’s happening inside me disappears for just a moment. I live for these moments. But then I remember just who I am, and it ruins everything. 

I feel the loss of my arm in a shift of my body, and the fall from the train comes flooding back. The despair and cold I felt lying at the bottom of that mountain, and how they were nothing compared to what came after. The pain of the arm, the experimentation. At the beginning I was awake for all of it, because how would they know when I worked otherwise? I spiral down into emotions I never felt back then. 

As the Winter Soldier I felt no fear, no remorse, no hesitation. 

Now I feel it all. I feel the terror and threat of being strapped into that horrible machine, and I feel the regret from the actions that follow. Worthlessness. Weakness. How useless am I, that I let this happen to myself for seventy years? I am evil. I don’t deserve to be here. I don’t deserve Steve, or V or Sam or Natalia, even. 

 

Christ. Even Natalia has found a way to be whole and normal. Or at least fake it... I’m not sure, and not willing to get close enough to her to find out. She already knows enough about me to be seen as a threat. The fact that she’s here, now, and not particularly interested in bonding tells me that she’s happy with me keeping my distance. Still, the point remains; it’s just me that can’t shape up. Just me stuck in my head, reliving the same horrors over and over again and unable to break out. 

This is where the annoyance kicks in, because everyone is so goddamn nice, and friendly, and understanding. Fuck them. It just makes it harder, sometimes, when I know that I should be doing better, getting better so I can atone my sins (though, really, we all know that no matter what I do I can never atone for that much evil), and they are so fucking understanding. Just once I’d like for Steve to get mad. To yell and scream and demand that I shape the hell up. I wish that things were like they used to be, between us. 

I know that the way we dance around each other is completely my fault. I need the space, even from him. Need the safety of knowing that no one will touch me without my consent or ask anything of me- especially after what Tony Stark did, when he took my arm. But I hate it, as well, because I know that we can’t go back to the way things were. 

Seriously. I don’t know how a guy like me, who has had so much shit happen to him for so long, could get as lucky as I did with Steve. Finding me, seventy fucking years after the the fact, and pulling me out of the brainwashing and then finding me again, taking me in, trying to get my stupid self to heal. God must have used up all the luck I’ll ever have just pulling this one off. 

 

So here I sit, in the corner of the living room again, can’t sit on a chair like a normal person, nope. Not me, the crazy one-armed man you can’t take out into public. 

 

Sam tells me about windows. 

Windows of time, where things aren’t so bad. He tells me that sometimes perception is different than reality- that it might feel like I’m spending all of my time in my head, but in reality things might be getting better, and I’d just go on thinking that everything is crap. 

He wants me to write them down, the windows of time that I feel like a human being (I won’t say normal, don’t know if I’ll ever feel normal, but I will take feeling human over feeling like an object). I’m definitely not writing them down. 

But I have had a lot of training crammed into my head over the last million years, and I have a spectacular internal clock. 

So I pay attention to the windows. 

 

✰ ✰ ✰

 

Steve is escaping James. Not in a bad way, just recognizing the deadly glares that indicate he’d like to be alone. Of course, he’s in the hallway, blocking Steve’s room and the bathroom, so Steve backs down the hall to the living room. He sees Viola sitting on the couch with Sam. They sit closely together, Sam holding Viola’s hands in his own. Steve stops, hesitant to intrude upon whatever’s happening in his living room. He backs around the corner, trapped between James and a scene he doesn’t want to witness. He can’t help his enhanced hearing, unfortunately. 

“....heart broken.” Is what comes out of Viola’s mouth.

Steve hears Sam shift, clothing rustle. “Oh honey.” He says. “I don’t know what to tell you about all of this. I don’t want anyone’s heart to get broken.”

There’s a silence. Steve desperately wants to see the pair on the couch, but he’s definitely in eavesdropping territory now. But he’s not going to leave, not with this topic of conversation. 

Sam’s voice comes back in. “...can’t give you a lot of advice on love, V. My specialty is pararescue, you know.” They both laugh softly, and Steve thinks he hears Viola sniff, as if she were crying. “Either way, it’s gonna be okay. You know I’ve got your back, and that’s the most important thing, now, isn’t it?” 

Another chuckle. Clothes rustle again, and Viola responds simply with a “Thanks, Sam.”

That’s about all Steve can take. He backs up a few steps and moves through the room into the kitchen, making sure that his footsteps are audible. He rummages through the fridge, shouting out “what’s up, you two?” as nonchalantly as he can while he pulls out random ingredients.

He focuses acting like he hasn’t just heard something that upsets him. If he doesn’t, he will turn right back around and confront Sam and Viola about what they were just talking about, and it’s not appropriate. None of his business. He might slam a jar down a little harder than usual on the counter. 

Super soldier strength means, of course, that it breaks. 

Sam and Viola sprang apart almost as soon as Steve entered the room, he could tell that even with his back turned. He also noticed Viola give her eyes a quick wipe, confirming his thought that she had been crying. Sam, on the other hand, latches on to the distraction. 

“Hey! What’d those pickles ever do to you?” 

Steve flashes a smile in his direction. Throws out some banter, he doesn’t even know what. He’s not the type to assume or throw blame, and he knows how much that conversation is none of his business. But it’s not going to leave his mind any time soon, either. 

 

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦

 

I don’t sleep much. Not really a surprise to anyone, including myself. Mostly I sleep when I’ve passed out wherever I sit, too tired to be awake anymore. 

It works, for the most part. I can’t really even feel the tiredness that much, in the grand scheme of what’s going on in my head. My body doesn’t get tired anymore, just weak, the muscles atrophied. 

Sam’s talked to me about exercise, and using my body and feeling tired that way. At first I was angry, my arm taken away, and I unable to cope without it. He’s told me that it had been pumping all sorts of shit into my bloodstream, and that my body weight and lack of muscle tone couldn’t handle the weight of the arm. So of course I understand that it had to go; still, I can’t stand the idea of missing it. Having one arm just….gone. Lacking the Weapon that I’ve used for seventy years. 

Honestly if I wanted to start exercising, I wouldn’t even know what to do with one arm. Before the war, and during the war, I came by my muscle with hard work. After… well, I can’t bear to do anything that I learned from Hydra. 

 

Sometimes I sit on the couch, and V or Steve will come sit next to me, gently pressing their sides against mine. If I happen to fall asleep while they sit beside me, they don’t seem to mind it. Sometimes if I wake up in the middle of the night screaming, one of them will come sit in my room with me, a quiet still presence that helps me navigate my way out of the memories. 

 

Tonight I don’t scream. Tonight is worse. I dream about Steve and the Helicarriers. Shooting him in the back, three times. Beating him senseless. Only in my dream, when Steve falls into the river, I don’t go in after him. I let him drown. 

I don’t wake up screaming, but I do wake up, instantly alert, unable to breathe. Filled with dread desperate to remind myself that Steve is here, alive. That I did pull him out, that he did survive. 

It’s still evening, not past ten o’clock. Since I go for days without sleep, when I do finally succumb it’s not often nighttime. Steve and Viola are very likely still awake, and I find myself desperately craving the peace that comes with their company. I know that I shouldn’t rely upon them for comfort. I do know that. My head isn’t right, and it probably won’t ever be, and it’s not fair to either of them to have to shoulder that. It’s just tonight. Just the promise of being alone in this room all night without checking to make sure that Steve is okay is enough to break what little force of will I have scraped together. 

I sit on my bed, still, for a long moment. Stare at the abstract shapes and blended colors that manage to pull me just a little out of the ache the floods my chest, a mix of guilt and shame and horror. Tonight each shape and color pulls me back to Steve; the blue over here is the perfect color of his eyes, while the brown swirling into gray on my other side makes me think of nothing so much as the War. The red in front of me is the dark red of the blood on Steve’s uniform after I shot him, and that’s as much as I can take without getting my ass up and heading down the hallway. 

I know that Sam at least thinks of Steve as predictable, but I know that he is anything but. So as I head out of my room, I have no idea where to find him. I stand for a moment, listening, and hear murmuring coming from his bedroom. Light streams out into the hallway through the mostly open door and I approach like a moth to the flame. The warm, loving flame of Steve. I snort.

My head isn’t really ever on straight. I walk down the hall the same way I walk everywhere, passing the ghosts of the people I’ve killed, mired in layers of memories I can’t be sure are real.

 

 

And then I turn around. 

 

I’m going to pretend that all of that never happened. It didn’t, because Steve and V didn’t see me. They didn’t see me, and I didn’t stand there and stare at them naked. If I don’t think about it, and they don’t ever find out, then it never happened. 

 

Right?

 

One thing I’ve discovered, courtesy of that thing I’m never ever ever going to think about: my dick works again. Lord knows when the last time that happened was, but there’s no question that it’s happening now.

 

✰ ✰ ✰

 

Steve takes James to the grocery store for the first time. It’s fucking hilarious. 

He wasn’t sure, beforehand, whether James would remember things from his Winter Soldier days, and not find it strange at all, or whether he would go through the same shock that Steve himself went through a few years ago, amazed by the store itself, then the food in it, then the prices.

James is somewhere in the middle. Which, honestly, has made the whole thing funnier. Steve and V had to stop looking at each other after the third time they almost burst into laughter. 

James had been nervous about going into public, especially because of his arm. Sam had helped him pin his shirt up, and then V had perfectly timed a distraction as they entered the store, keeping him from freaking out as they enter.

Once they’re in, James is all confident swagger, a mix of the Winter Soldier’s confident, deadly stride and Bucky’s strut that brings a smile to Steve’s face. It’s obvious to Steve from James’ demeanor that he’s been in grocery stores before, which makes sense. He’s sure that his friend has had to pass through society as a normal individual from time to time, and he can imagine that even walking through the store while stalking a target would be enough for the Winter Soldier to have memorized and internalized every detail of its layout. Once they start actually looking for food and putting it in the cart, however, James turns into a kid in a candy store.

One moment he’s walking down the aisles with a nonchalant glide. They get through the vegetables quickly, and while they shop for fruit James stalks the area, hand in the pocket of his sweats. He’s starting to curl in on his left side a little, subconsciously hiding his weakness away from the people he passes. So of course Viola strategically mentions the supplies that she needs for baking as he orbits close to their cart. The next thing any of them know, James is questioning V about what she can bake, getting excited at the prospect of apple pie and homemade sourdough, moaning at the mention of the treats that they could never afford when they were young.

After that James leads the cart through the store, practically pulling the other two along in his wake, stopping to ask constant questions about what the items were on the shelf, what Viola needed, whether she could make this or that thing that he remembered from their youth. 

Some things were definitely not from their youth. Steve feels a jolt run through his chest when James asks if Viola knows how to make Zefir. He can’t help but hate the fact that he’ll never know what James actually went through, will never know the memories from those years, good or bad. Luckily James is too entrenched in his conversation with Viola to notice Steve’s momentary sorrow. By the time his friend’s gray-blue eyes flash up to his, the blond manages to put a smile back on his face and let himself get caught back up in the excitement. 

 

Of course, at some point in the great quest to make every delicious food ever, James notices the prices on the food he’s throwing into the cart with abandon. It stops him cold, and he spends a moment staring at the price tag, completely still and silent. A beat passes, and he sucks a breath in, turns to put what’s in his hand back on the shelf, and freezes, turning back to the cart with a wounded puppy look. Steve and Viola have been waiting for it, and he’s biting his lip to let James have his moment uninterrupted. A hand brushes through his greasy, unwashed hair as he exhales “What the fuck, man.”

Steve tries so hard to keep his mouth shut and see what his friend says. James shifts on his feet, full pink lips twisting up in a grimace, teeth sneaking out to bite them as he works his way through the past seventy years. Finally he heaves a sigh, head rising for his eyes to meet Steve’s. 

 

“I’ve got a bunch of cash hidden all over the city.”

Steve can’t take it, and he bursts out laughing, the sheer absurdity of the entire situation, of his entire life really, hitting him. He laughs and he can’t stop laughing, tears pushing forth from his eyes as he rests his hands on his knees. Later he can think about this and recognize how horrible it is. Later he can hate the world just a little bit for screwing with time and nature the way it did. Later he can cry about all of this, and reassure James that he’s not spending all of his money supporting his best friend. 

Right now he laughs until the two brunettes beside him have no choice but to join in, laughing more at Steve than anything else. God, Steve just wants to throw an arm around his friend the way they did for so many years. He settles for smiling at James, meeting his sparkling eyes with the biggest grin and getting one in return. And that’s enough for now.

Because obviously, it’s time to make some of the food James has been begging for all morning.

 

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦

 

I don’t know how they all do it.

I don’t know how they talk me into these things, how they get me to forget all about everything for a few minutes, and I can’t decide if I want it it to stop or not. 

It felt so good this morning to go out jogging with Sam, to banter and joke and hear the story of how Falcon met Captain America as we lapped the Mall at a slow pace. Then when I got back, everything that I managed to push out for that little bit of time slid back in, and everything fell to shit again. I wonder why I’m here, and how I’ll ever be normal if going for a jog is my biggest accomplishment all week. I can’t stop thinking about how slow we went, and how fast I should be running. All I’ve ever been good for is a gun, an arm, a fight; now I can’t do that, and I’m sure as hell not good for anything else. 

It feels so awful that I sink back into myself, curling up in the corner, left side tucked into the wall, hair covering my face so no one can see me. 

 

I know I’m crazy.

 

I know I’m not worth it.

 

But eventually my thoughts wind their way around to Steve, and Viola, and Sam, and I start thinking about what they’ve gone through. Who they’ve lost, how they’ve dealt with it. Then I start feeling guilty that I’m letting them down. They all pulled themselves back up out of their holes again, and I know that I can’t. In that moment, I know this one fact with more certainty than I know my own name. But I still need to try, for them. 

So I let them pull me back in again. Back to jogging with Sam, to cooking with V, to sitting awkwardly with Steve as he sketches pictures of me with ears (he thinks I don’t know, but I do… I notice everything even now). 

Damn Sam, but he’s right about that whole “windows” thing. It’s hard to notice on a daily basis, but when I run over the week, and the one before it, it’s easy to see that I’m spending a little bit more time being...okay. Not even close to healed, not close to normal, even. But I haven’t tried to kill anyone in a long time, and my head, as fuzzy and damaged and dark a place as it is, at least belongs to me.


	15. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YO! Thanks for still reading, you awesome few.   
> Here's a long chapter! Work starts tomorrow (waaah!!) so although updates will come, timing is unknown.  
> BUT you can come bug me on my tumblr here... https://www.tumblr.com/blog/gynotikilobomassophile  
>  :) things are getting better. Let me know if you like it!

In the fall of 2014, this is what I, James Buchanan Barnes, Winter Soldier, Fist of Hydra, amputee and asshole, have accomplished:

 

Not sleeping. Fuck you, brain. It’s not even that I can’t get to sleep- I’m so tired and weak all of the time that I can fall asleep just fine… if I let myself. Because my dreams are inevitably of my time as a remote controlled monster. Sometimes I dream things that have happened; other times, I kill Steve on the Helicarrier. The worst are the ones where I wake up and walk into the kitchen and take a knife and slit V’s throat right in front of Steve. 

 

There’s nothing like being reminded that you could snap at any moment. So I don’t let myself sleep, because I can’t handle being reminded of the horrors that I did without flinching. My dreams don’t even wake me up, because that would stop the horror. Fuck you very much, brain. 

All of the time not sleeping leaves me plenty of time to devote to my favorite hobby, moping around hating everyone and everything. I’m not even joking, I spend hours devoted to sitting in a corner hating on the world. Mostly myself, of course. Hating feeling weak, hating having no arm, hating Tony Stark for taking it, hating being a monster, hating Steven Grant Rogers for not killing me like he should have. Hating Hydra, hating Hydra, hating Hydra.

 

Hating Sam Wilson for being right, the righteous bastard. He told me that I would notice when things changed, told me to pay attention to the windows where I am miraculously less fucked up. It’s obvious that I’m spending more time feeling like… not a robot monster. Silly me, of course, I thought that spending less time like that would make it easier. This is the part that, in a book, always gets glossed over in a paragraph, the grand transition; but it’s fucking excruciating. 

I just want to be better already. I want to be okay or not okay. If I knew I was never gonna get better I’d just fucking kill myself right now and stop wasting my time, but I am getting better. It’s not fast enough and I’m not better enough to do anything different and it’s not easier than it was.

So what do I do with that?

 

 

I go on runs with Sam, even though by the time I’m done I feel like puking all over myself. Sometimes, because I can’t promise from day to day that I’m going to be in the mood to run. Still he stops by every day, to ask if I want to come with him. 

The terrible trio sat me down and told me that Tony Stark has made a prosthetic for me. (Pity gift! Screams my head). Even though this arm is more the size of V’s than Steve’s, so they say, my body still can’t handle the weight unless I make the effort to eat regularly and start building up some muscle tone (looking less like a corpse, my mind whispers to me). Apparently Stark is working on something closer to my original arm, but I’ve avoided myself recently enough in a reflective surface to know how far I have to go for that. Plus, I’m sure he’d refuse to put it in until he had some kind of assurance that I wasn’t gonna go crazy and kill everybody with it, and I don’t know that that day will ever come. 

So I fucking run with Sam. Steve doesn’t come with us. 

 

V gives me “cooking lessons” which is the biggest load of bullshit in the entire world. Seriously, I have one fucking arm. How much cooking do they think I’m gonna manage to do when I can’t even chop vegetables?

 

Okay, that’s not true. My knife skills are good enough that I can dice an onion one-handed. But I can’t fucking cook with one arm, and V knows it. Sometimes she asks me to help, but mostly we sit together and talk while she cooks us food. I know she does it so I actually eat. I want to say no, but whenever she comes and gets me to tell me it’s time for another cooking lesson, I look at her face and find myself following along behind her. 

Steve doesn’t help us cook. 

 

Between going on runs with Sam and cooking with V, I’m awake and dressed most days like a normal person, which is definitely the most progress I’ve made (since… I’m not gonna think about that). 

 

Two weeks later, the terrible trio drag me to the VA. Sam leads group, he says, and Steve goes sometimes (when the fuck has he gone? I’ve never heard him talk about it) to support him, and V wants to start volunteering. We drive there, which makes me nervous (but not as nervous as walking past all those strangers), and I see a big, new building probably filled with people. Oh goody. When we get there, I’ve got the choice: do I want to go with Sam and Steve to group? I don’t have to say anything if I don’t want to, I can just sit there, and they have pretty good coffee and cookies. Or do I want to go with V and garden? She’s talking with a blonde woman to the side, and Sam says that she’s helping plant a new garden in the back. 

 

Do these assholes seriously think I can’t tell what they’re doing? I turn my best robot monster glare on V, who just smiles at me. Shit, I need more practice. Then to Sam, who just shrugs. Finally I glare at Steve, who looks away guiltily. Take that, asshole. 

Just to spite them I choose group, like they want me to. Group what? Fucking assholes I hate everyone. Of course we’re early, so Steve helps Sam set up chairs. I, on the other hand, set my chair up in the back, pour myself a nice cup of coffee and get a big stack of cookies, and try to perfect my death glare. I swear to god, if any of these assholes looks at my arm I’m gonna…. go sit in the car until they’re all done. What the fuck is my life. 

 

I don’t have to follow through on my promise to myself, cause nobody really even looks at me. A couple chat with Sam, and a few give Steve a nod, but they leave me alone. And then they talk about how they’re feeling. 

 

Seriously. To strangers. They’re saying shit I’d never admit to myself, never mind to a whole fucking room of people to judge me. They’re talking about nightmares, and panic attacks, and feeling angry, and adjusting to being back and thank you, Sam, I fucking get it. I’m not the only one. Yeah, it’s nice to know and all, that other people have the same problems, but I really don’t think that anybody else in this room is like me. Not where it counts. 

 

I thank the fucking lord when Sam wraps up the meeting. He asks if anyone else wants to share, and he looks me right in the eyes, but he doesn’t call me by name. I look over at Steve, who’s got this fucking dopey trying not to be hopeful expression on his face, and cross my arms as I look away. I’m not gonna talk to strangers. What the fuck would I even say? 

 

What would I say?

 

✫✫✫

Viola takes Steve dancing. Sort of. 

It’s definitely nothing like dancing with Peggy. And God, Peggy…. she gets worse every time he sees her. It breaks his heart, and he can’t stop. He knows that soon, she might not recognize him at all, and he needs to be there for her until then, and past that. It’s after a particularly devastating visit that he tells Viola all about Peggy, about his promise to her to go dancing. 

She always amazes him; instead of feeling jealous, or wanting to put herself in Peggy’s place, she distracts him, shows him what the world he lives in now has to offer. 

He’s not completely sure about the clothes she’s picked out for him: jeans that are far tighter than he’d like, a black tee shirt, his leather jacket on top. However… when he sees what Viola’s wearing, everything else flies out of his head. 

Dear God. 

 

They go to a club, getting in quickly because Viola, of course, knows the man at the door. Steve is assaulted all at once by a wall of noise: it definitely is noise, lyrics practically unintelligible through the pounding bass and electronic tones. He tries to talk to Viola, and quickly learns that to communicate at all, he needs to get much closer. Wrapping his arms around her sides and back, he nuzzles into her neck. 

“Seriously? This is supposed to help me relax? You know I can’t get drunk, right?”

Her breath huffs in a laugh against his cheek. “I know it’s weird. Give it an hour. If you hate it, we’ll go home and find some other way to get you relaxed.” She pulls her head away, winking at him. Her arms slide around to grab his, and she leads him, not to the bar where a large crowd is gathered, or to the tables lining the walls, but straight into the mass of writhing people in the middle of the club. 

 

Steve is not afraid of dancing. He’s just considering the likelihood of getting trampled by the horde of drunk people as Viola pulls him farther into what he’s sure is supposed to be a “dance floor.”

Viola turns, in front of him, and grabs his neck to pull him down to her height. He might not mind talking here if it means he needs to get this close….

“Time to dance, love.” She presses a quick kiss to his cheek. “Just like at home. Move to the music, no fucks given for anyone else. No one’s watching you here.” 

He smiles. Then leans forward to catch Viola’s lips in a more thorough kiss. He pulls her hips to his, and she slides her hands under his shirt, caressing his back. Slowly her hips start moving to the beat, writhing side to side. She breaks the kiss with just a tease of her tongue, grinning up at him with such a twinkle in her eye that he can’t help but laugh. Slowly, he starts to move. Viola pulls her body apart from his, raising her arms, bouncing and swaying to the beat, her eyes closed, her head thrown back, curls cascading down her shoulders. 

Steve starts slowly. He knows that Viola is dancing for herself, not watching or judging, and it helps. He moves his feet, side to side to the rhythm of the thundering music. Viola introduced him to house music, but it wasn’t something he really felt drawn to. Now, feeling the music as almost physical waves pulsing around him, he understands better why people like it. It takes over his senses. Here, in this dark room, surrounded by strangers, he can feel the music and move to it and let it take him over. 

He closes his eyes. His hands raise up and he doesn’t know anymore what his body’s supposed to be doing, but he doesn’t care. He sways, he moves, he lets his body go where it wants. He lets himself disappear for an endless moment, existing as nothing but the beat and the pumping of his heart and the breath in his lungs. 

He understands, now. Opens his eyes, finds Viola (who has mysteriously migrated behind him, dancing and laughing with a blonde girl in a tiny dress. He catches her eye, pulls her back towards him and kisses her, relief and release surely written on his face. 

They sway together until Steve gets distracted by the friction between their bodies. He’s not done dancing yet, and as the night progresses they come together and split apart, dance with strangers, sweat growing on their bodies and music pounding in their ears. 

 

Steve is laughing to Viola as they head home.

“Admit it. I was right, wasn’t I?” She teases him.

He rolls his eyes at her, shrugging. “Eh… it was okay.”

“Just okay?” She laughs.

“Well, you know, a massage probably would have been relaxing, too.” He laughs as she tries to shove him and fails. 

As they open the door to the apartment, Steve thinks about checking to see if James is still awake. He sees brown hair disappear around the corner as they come through the door. He wonders if the long-haired man was waiting to make sure they came home safely. 

 

✶✶✶

Other things that I do:   
swear a lot.

Think about what I would say to that stupid fucking group. 

Listen to V and Steve have sex. Seriously, I must have been fucking deaf to not be able to hear it before, I don’t even know how I could have been that oblivious but they screw all. of. the. time. 

Try to masturbate. Which comes to a crashing halt almost as soon as it starts. I end up hunched over the toilet, dry heaving and shaking. Not sure if that was Hydra’s conditioning or the fact that my body’s not used to feeling anything good. Either way, I’m never going to try that again, that’s for sure. So I spend the month of November sexually frustrated and horny as hell. 

 

 

The next time they drag me to the VA, I go help V garden, just to piss them off. 

Gardening has got to be the biggest waste of time in the entire world. Or maybe it’s just trying to garden one-handed that makes it such a shitshow. V is awesome, of course, and lets me fuck around with whatever I want, no pressure. But every time someone else comes walking along, I start thinking about how I must look, how ridiculous it must seem, and it makes me want to hide. 

Definitely not doing that again. 

...But one good thing does come of it- as much as I don’t think of it as an accomplishment, because, gardening, seriously? I could do it. I could do it one-handed, and it wasn’t a mess. Makes me realize how much better I’ve gotten in the past few weeks, when it comes to my arm at least. 

So not a total loss, then. 

 

I start watching television, and V and Sam like to fill me in on pop culture. I realize how much nostalgia must play a part, because most of what they tell me about sounds fucking dumb as hell. But I try a little bit of everything. I didn’t sleep through the last seventy years, not like Steve did, but I didn’t exactly know what was going on, either. So I try to focus on history, and catching up with what happened in broad strokes. Finding out about the Holocaust was the worst of it; realizing that that was happening, under our noses, and we didn’t have any idea…. makes me wish that Steve had punched Hitler for real. The atomic bomb was a close second. After that it’s a wave of wars, protests, same fucked up shit as before, just with a different spin. I’m not sure what I was a part of, where I played my role, and I’m not looking. Don’t want to know. Maybe someday I’ll be ready, but right now the thought of finding out how much worse I made the world isn’t exactly on my to-do list. 

Sam tells me about civil rights, V about feminism and Stonewall, which sort of makes me feel better. That slowly there are changes taking place. Sam is saddened by how slowly change has occurred, how many lives are still lost because of inequality. I remember feeling that anger, back during the war and even before it. When the press tried to take Gabe and Morita out of the pictures, or push them to the side. Remember Peggy kicking some jerk’s butt about once a month just to keep them all in line. It’s hard to feel that anger now, because I’m not a part of this society, at least not yet. There’s nothing to connect to. But I’m happy to know about the changes all the same; it’s nice to know that the fairies that used to live by us in Brooklyn wouldn’t get killed just for walking down the street. 

I learn a lot of new words from the two of them, and they’re a little hard to remember. I’m overwhelmed by the amount of different words there are for who you fuck, and a little surprised when V tells me how she fits into that “spectrum;” she’s beautiful, and seeing her with Steve, it’s hard to imagine her with a woman instead. And then start imagining it, and…... god, that’s fucking hot. 

 

So much sexual frustration. 

 

I read books. I always used to love science, and V introduces me to so many new books. I devour Harry Potter, Douglas Adams, Terry Pratchett. It helps, of course, that I’m still not sleeping all that much. But the books… they distract. So when I wake up shaking and sweating not two hours after I’ve fallen asleep, now I pick up a book and distract myself and feel a little less like I need to jump out of my own skin. 

 

The third time I go to the VA with everybody, I choose group again. I’m still too paranoid and self-conscious to let people watch me dig in the dirt one-armed. Plus I’m a little afraid I might turn a trowel into a weapon if someone comes too close. 

Steve doesn’t come with us to group this time. What’s up with him? Anyway, I still don’t talk. But I listen a little bit more, just for reference because I’m still thinking about what I would say, if I ever felt like sharing. Which I don’t. 

 

I learn more history. And more about the present. I start paying attention to superheroes and how people feel about them. How all this has developed since Steve, seventy years ago. 

Then I want to punch Steve in the fucking face, because seriously: Aliens??? Aliens, Steve? Jesus Christ this kid will jump into any fight you put in front of his face, no matter how stupid. Actually, scratch that. This idiot will walk fifty miles in the snow for a fight. Goddamn. 

 

I get a cat. 

 

✫✫✫

 

Steve is a dog person. Dogs are loyal, smart, they protect their owners and serve people. I mean, seeing eye dogs, therapy dogs, dogs that serve in the police or armed forces…. Steve is definitely a dog person. 

But he’s sitting in the kitchen eating breakfast one day when James comes in from his run with Sam, curled protectively over a tiny ball of gray fluff, mewling intermittently. The fork drops from Steve’s hand. 

“Um, James…. what do you have there?”

“Cat.”

Sigh. 

“Yeah, I see that.” Pause. “Where’d you find it?”

“Dumpster.” He swears in Russian. “She’s all covered in fleas. I think that’s bad. I’m supposed to take her to the vet, right?” He tries to curl her around his neck so he can reach up into a cabinet. Steve rushes to his rescue, pulling out a tiny bowl. He looks to James for what to do with it. 

“Water. She’s thirsty. And hungry, she’s all skin and bones. What can I give her?”

Steve shrugs, helpless. “I have no idea.” He needs help. This is so far from his area of expertise. “I’ll go see if Viola’s up, she might know.”

He looks at James, but the man doesn’t respond, too busy helping the tiny kitten drink from the bowl. 

Steve deliberately does not run down the hallway. 

Viola is still sleeping, curled up in bed, her sleeping face angelic in its beauty. For once, though, Steve doesn’t care. He shakes her shoulder gently. 

“Viola. Wake up, baby.”

She groans, sighing and stretching, peeking one eye up at Steve’s face. Her hand slithers up his leg. 

“Steve? What’s up?”

He knows he’s being a bit ridiculous right now. But James is interested in something, talking more than usual, and Steve wants to keep it going. “James found a kitten. He needs help. I have no idea what to do.”

Viola sits up in the bed, running a hand through Steve’s hair. “Don’t worry, I’ve got this.”

She quickly pulls on clothes and heads to the kitchen. By the time Steve has gotten back out to the other two, James is holding the kitten in his arms, waiting by the door while Viola puts her jacket on.

She stops to peck him on the cheek. “We’re going to head off to the vet. This kitten’s too little to eat food, and it’s not in the best shape. See you in a little while?”

Steve nods. As they head out the door, he can hear James ask “It’s gonna be okay, right? It’s hurt but it’s gonna get better?” And he’s thankful that he doesn’t have to be the one to make that promise. 

 

James becomes a flurry of activity, taking care of the kitten. He feeds it with an eye dropper every hour, gives it medication, and combs its fur to make sure the fleas are all gone. When it sleeps, which is about all it ever does, James sits and watches it like a hawk, holding his breath every time the thing moves. He’s transformed in the service of this tiny creature; no longer seeming to care about the challenges having only one arm faced him with, only happy to care for his pet. Steve was shocked speechless the first time he was asked for help with the can opener, at least until James stared at him impatiently. 

As the cat heals and grows, James becomes further enthralled. The two sleep together, and James is rarely seen in the house except in the company of his furry gray companion, who remains nameless. “It’s not like it’s gonna come running when I call,” James comments, the small smirk on his face a ghost of years ago. 

However, the cat is a sharp-clawed menace to everyone else in the house. When Sam enters to pick James up for their run, he now scans the floor for sneak attacks from a sharp-clawed kitten. Viola minds the least, though she dislikes the cat’s fondness for chasing her curls. Steve can’t seem to get a break with the cat. Whenever he tries to make friends, it inevitably attacks him. If he tries to leave it alone, it attacks him, and then James glares. 

Steve is definitely a dog person. 

✶✶✶✶✶

 

 

I talk to Sam about my…..problem. I didn’t really mean to, but one day he lets himself into the apartment while Steve and V were still...and I had fled into the living room and am lying on the couch with a pillow over my ears, and Sam is worried, and I have to explain that I just can’t hear anymore, because I am gonna spontaneously combust. So I talk to Sam.

He asks me a bunch of questions. He doesn’t have many answers, but we somehow get on the topic of my past lovers. I don’t mention Natasha, because I’d like to keep my balls. 

“Did you and Steve ever, y’know, before?”

I don’t even know what the fuck to respond to first. The idea that Steve would have sex with me.   
Is Steve gay? He’s with V. I HEAR how often he’s with V. He’s bi? pan? How long has he known? Has he dated men before? I don’t know what my face is doing, but I’m way too caught up in these thoughts to respond to Sam, and it takes me a minute to realize that Sam’s still talking to me. 

“Hey, you ok there, James? I didn’t realize my idea would hit you as hard as it did, I’m sorry.”

I finally snap out of it and look up at the dark-skinned man sitting next to me on the couch. 

“Hey, there you are again. You ok, man?”

I nod. Hesitate. “Steve. Just surprised you mentioned Steve.”

Sam laughs. “You’re kidding me, right? That man would do anything for you, if you asked him.”

I snort. “Doesn’t seem like it lately.”

I get a sharp look for that, and Sam throws up his hands. “See, this here, this is why y’all need a real therapist instead of asking for advice from your good buddy, Sam. I can’t dig into all of this shit while we’re sitting here on the couch. Actually, I can’t dig into this shit while we’re getting our asses off of this couch to do our damn run.” We rise, and I cram my feet into running shoes with the laces still tied. Too annoying to ask someone else to tie them every time. “I’m gonna back the fuck away from this minefield of a subject now,” the man says as he opens the door, “but I want you to think about what I said. And I won’t even bring up therapy again….” he says, putting his hands up. 

I snort. He grins as we move down the stairs. “C’mon, man, let’s go running while you’re still out of shape enough that I can beat you. It’s good for my ego.” 

I laugh aloud at that one. 

 

 

I wake up in the middle of the night, cuddled around a still-sleeping Cat, unsure what set me off. Then I hear rustling, little sounds that let me know that Steve and V are awake and up. I lie in bed for a moment, not wanting to wake Cat, but I can hear shifting and things rattling, and my curiosity gets the better of me. 

They’re in the living room. Both dressed in dark, warm clothes. Steve is curled over a backpack, quietly talking to V as she pulls things off of the desk where they keep their art supplies. Before I know it, they’re packed up and heading out the door. What the hell is Steve doing with V at two in the morning?

 

It’s not weird to follow them. V is a civilian, whether she’s sparred a few times with Natasha or not. And Steve is a fucking trouble magnet. They both need someone to look out for them.

So I shadow them and I watch. I watch as they walk to...a random abandoned stretch of wall that belongs to some building. No security cameras. They unpack the backpack and start taping cardboard up on the wall. I’m really wishing I had Sam here right now because it looks a lot like the two of them are fucking nuts and I need to vent to someone. 

Until they pull out the spray paint and start going at it. Then I need Sam because Steve, Steven Grant Rogers is vandalising somebody’s property. I want to laugh. This is what all the sneaking was about? Jesus. The guy’s always been a little shit, and this takes the cake. Then I stop laughing. Because why the hell would they keep this from me?

 

Either way, in the morning, I tell V I want to test her self defense skills. She looks at me with a question in her eyes, and I realize that this is the first time since I came here, for months, that I’ve acted like the asset. Then I realize that last night, I had done the same thing and not thought about it once. It had felt like putting on an old sweater, comfortable and familiar. 

I’m not sure how I feel about this. I need to talk to Sam. 

 

 

Fall comes to a close, Christmas just around the corner, and V gets excited. “I get to spend Christmas with a ton of people I love this year! Normally I’m in Mexico trading random jobs for food. What’s not to love?” I am not so enthused. It just… feels weird. Wrong. I don’t want to pretend that it’s 1945, but I don’t know how to do things now, and I don’t really want to learn. Don’t want to think about my family, all dead and gone. 

There’s a Christmas party down at the VA, which sucks because they all know that’s a safe space for me and I don’t have any excuse not to go. Still, I refuse. V tries to resort to pouting when her urging doesn’t work. “Just come for a little while! You can leave if you want, or take some space. I just want you to get a little bit of the holiday spirit.” I shake my head. 

Steve joins her. Tilts his head down to look at me with his earnest jackass blue eyes. “You sure, B..buddy? Don’t like leaving you all alone here.”

I don’t even respond. Mostly because I can’t think of a response that isn’t a punch to the face. Fuck this guy. It’s too much. I turn away and stalk into my bedroom without another word. 

 

God. I’m so fucking angry and my heart hurts and I think now this is why Sam didn’t want to get in the middle of this. I’m getting better. I’m fucking getting better! And the better I’ve been getting, the less Steve’s been around. Lately he’s had nothing to do with me. He doesn’t go running with me and Sam anymore, doesn’t come to group even if it’s just to garden with V. Doesn’t eat when V and I cook, doesn’t come learn about the last seventy years with me, or tell me what he’s caught up on and how, or do. fucking. anything. 

I throw myself face down on the bed. Where is Cat when I need her? I need to leave. 

I can’t leave. 

There’s nowhere safe to go. And what the fuck would I do without V, without Sam? Would they still spend time with me if I didn’t live with Steve? Could I take Cat with me? 

I could do it. Live in the streets again, to start. I’m ok enough now to get myself food and shelter, so much better than before. But the arm…. would it make me a target? I don’t know if I can fight anymore. I’ve lost all my muscle tone, my brain’s been scrambled…. 

 

Fuck. 

 

Fuck this, fuck Steve Rogers. 

I groan. 

 

 

“James?” . 

Because of course this guy needs to come make sure I’m okay or whatever. But I can’t deal right now. At this moment I can’t pretend everything’s okay because it’s not. I’ve hit my limit. 

I don’t answer, so of course, I hear his feet edging just a bit into my room. I want to scream at him to keep his dirty shoes out of my room. Which is really his room, because this is his apartment. I seethe. 

“What’s up, James? Seems like you’re mad at me.” He never was one to beat around the bush. 

I scoff. Mad at you? Gosh, buddy, what makes you think that?

“Okay, so you are mad at me” Says the deep voice behind me. Shit, did I say that out loud? 

I push myself around and roll off of the bed, catching my weight on my feet and standing quickly. I move forward until I’m only a foot away from Steve, all dressed up. “You know what? I’m not mad at you.” Steve’s bright blue eyes soften, I assume in relief. 

But I’m not that nice. “I’m not mad at you. I’m fucking done with you!” I yell, looking up at his face. “I’m so done with your bullshit! You’re supposed to be my best friend. Right? After you guys found me that was the speech I got. It didn’t matter what I had done or what I remembered, you were there for me no matter what. Seems like a giant fucking lie to me!” I vent. Of course, by the end of it, Steve’s wounded puppy eyes are out, so I turn away, shoving him with my good shoulder as I go. 

 

“I don’t understand.”

“Where the fuck have you been, Steve? You’re never here. You don’t talk to me. You don’t go running with me’n’Sam, you don’t come to group anymore. When I’m doing something you’re never there, and when I’m home you avoid the hell out of me.”

That’s as far as I get in my rant, which is probably a good thing, because I’m still not sure where I’m going with it. Steve turns me around to face him, then crosses his arms. “What the hell am I supposed to do, B- James?”

“I dunno, maybe not call me Bucky for a start!”

“I’m fuckin’ trying, here, you know. It’s not that easy!”

“No, really?” I mock gasp. “You’re having a hard time adjusting to my changes? Gosh, I couldn’t understand anything about that!” He starts talking before I’ve even finished. 

“I’m not saying that, James. I just… I don’t know what to do! I don’t know how to help you.” He sighs, looking down at his feet.

Yeah. Whatever. “I get it. I’m too much trouble. Don’t worry, I’ll get out of your hair.”

His head snaps up, his eyes finding mine. “What? No, Buck, you can’t leave!” As soon as he realizes what he’s said, he cringes and starts backpedaling. “I didn’t mean… I mean, James, I don’t want you to leave….”

I cut him off. “Why?” My arm is wildly gesticulating. I start to pace. “Why do you even care? Why the fuck do you even want me here? C’mon, Steve!” I don’t want to look in his face. I want an answer, so badly, but I can’t bear to see because I know that I’m not going to see what I want. I turn and pace to the window, running my hand through my hair. 

The door clicks closed, I can see Steve move out of the corner of my eye and I hear my bed creak as he sits on it. He sighs. 

“James. James, will you look at me?” I shake my head. Try to cross my arms, realize how weird that is with only one to cross, but don’t care. I want to punch something. I want to punch Steve. 

“James, I want you here.” He pauses. Seriously? That’s it? That’s his big speech? “James, I always want you with me. You’re my best friend, and waking up and having you not with me was almost as horrible as watching you fall off that train, and… god, I’ve never apologized, I don’t think, but I will now. I’m so, so sorry that I didn’t come after you. That I let you fall. This is all my fault-”

“Jesus, Steve, do you hear yourself?” I snap, turning back to him. “This isn’t about you! I don’t give a shit if you’re sorry about mistakes that happened seventy years ago-”

“-okay, you’re right, this is about you-”

“-such a selfish prick sometimes, I swear to God-”

“I’m trying to answer the question that you asked me you-”

“-exactly like you were when you were little, though at least you’re not a virgin now-”

“James!” Steve yells in his Cap voice. I shut up, but I still won’t look at him.

“Give me a minute here, okay? This isn’t easy.” He says in a more gentle tone.

Hah. “Says the guy who loves to make speeches.”

He huffs. “Yeah, well speeches are easy. This is hard. Jesus, B- James.”

I throw my head back in exasperation. “For fuck’s sake, just call me Bucky, will you? If it’s that hard for you, just call me Bucky.”

“I’m trying to get this out, y’know? I know you don’t mean it, but I’m calling you Bucky anyway ‘cause you’re being a jerk right now.” I huff exasperatedly at him and throw myself down onto a pillow on the floor. “You’d better not leave.” He sighs, and wobbles his head back and forth. “Well, I mean, I’m not gonna stop you and you can do whatever you want, you shouldn’t think that I’m telling you what to do. But I want you here! I might have gotten off topic, before, but having you here with me is the best thing that’s happened since I’ve woken up. I love knowing you’re here with me.”

I actually look up so he can see that I have something to say instead of just interrupting. “Yeah, you’re happy knowing I’m here, great. But why? I mean, it doesn’t seem like you care. You don’t want anything to do with me. So maybe in theory it’s good to have me here, but I’m not acting like you thought I would and I’m not the old Bucky anymore. If that’s what you want, I really should leave.”

He throws up his hands. “God- fuck, Bucky, it’s not that. I promise you, it’s not that.” He leans forward, his eyes targeting mine. For a moment, Steve is still, and then he huffs a laugh and shakes his head. His mouth twists into a parody of a smile. 

“What do I have to offer you?” His blue eyes bore into mine. “I’m such a fucking mess as it is that I don’t know what to do, how to be around you and… not try to pretend things are like they were before, and….be mindful of what you’ve gone through….” He shakes his head again. “Sam, obviously, knows what to do. I mean, he’s helped me enough with my own problems… he knows how to be around you. Viola too; she helped me so much, I’m so glad that you’ve gotten close to her, and she’s perfect and she knows exactly what to say. What the fuck am I? I’m just a reminder of what you’re not. I didn’t want to come running with you and Sam because I figured that if I ran with you two that you wouldn’t want to be reminded of the...serum stuff, it’s effects, how fast I can run. Group, well…” He heaves another sigh, this one seeming to release unseen tension. “You looked at me, when Sam asked you if you wanted to share, and I thought that maybe you didn’t want to say it in front of me. So I thought that if I left you might be able to share and get more out of group. And I don’t want to cut into your friendships! I don’t want to be the asshole that tags along to stuff that no one wants him there for. What do I have to offer you, really? What do I have to offer that Sam and Viola can’t do better, that doesn’t make you think of the past or Hydra or everything else?”

By the time he finishes, he’s looking down at his feet again, shoulders hunched in on himself. For a moment I get a flash of the man he used to be, bony and pale and filled with the same idealistic spirit. 

Fuck this guy. He can’t even let me yell at him for ten minutes without making all the anger disappear. I get onto my knees, scoot over to the bed and shove Steve’s big ass over so I can sit next to him. I make sure to sit to his left, so I can lean my shoulder into his.

“Goddamn, Steve. One of these days, you’re gonna stop being such a fucking martyr, and I’ll die of shock.” I lean further into him.

“Shut up. You’re not allowed to make dying jokes. You have to go at least…. three years without almost dying to make a dying joke.”

“Then I guess you’ll never get to,” I joke. Steve snorts and leans back against me, silent for now. 

I let the moment rest. We relax for a breath, and I remember a thousand times exactly the same. 

 

“You don’t have to do anything special, you know.” 

“I know I don’t.” He says quickly, then shakes his head. “Yes, I do. You’re my best friend. You’re too important.” He probably was going to say more, but I take the opportunity to shove him so he hits my bed. “Hey!” He laughs. 

 

“Hey yourself. You’re overthinking this stuff. If you’re my friend, do the things friends do with each other. Come running with me. Support me in group,” I say with a pointed look. “Eat with me.” I frown. “If you’ve been having a hard time, tell me about it.” Steve nods, smiling just a little bit as he sits back up. Then I go in for the kill. 

“Show me all those pictures you draw of me.”

He freezes. Then I watch as a blush works over his face. I revel in the embarassment I’m causing. “Especially the ones of me as a cat. I’m real interested in those ones.”

He cringes harder, if possible, then nods his head. “Ok, you got me,” he says, still nodding. “You know what? Sure. Not gonna ask how you know what’s in my sketchbook, but sure I’ll show you.” My shoulders shake in silent laughter, and he makes as if he’s going to get up and get the book right then, so I pull him back down. He’s smiling, and I’m smiling. His hand comes up, like it’s going to rest on my shoulder, and he quirks his eyebrows and looks into my eyes. 

“This ok?”

I nod, and wrap my arm around his neck to pull him in for a hug. “I’m still not going to that party, just so you know.”

I can feel his breath huff out against my shoulder as he squeezes me back. “Punk.”

“Jerk.”


	16. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo! Okay, here's the next chap. It's funny how I keep thinking that I'm gonna get more covered in each chapter, and then they take me in a completely different direction....
> 
> speaking of: if anybody's interested in being a beta for me, I could really use someone to bounce ideas off of. let me know!
> 
>  
> 
> So. I hope you enjoy the chapter; as always, i love to hear what you think!!

Winter really gets into swing and even though the winter clouds press heavily down upon them, there’s a tangible feeling of weightlessness. In the few days after he and Bucky have it out, he feels like he has breathing room for the first time since… maybe since Bucky came home. But he knows it won’t last if he doesn’t keep it going. He can feel it in his bones- that this peace with his best friend since forever isn’t a going back to the old ways, but forging a new one. And like all new paths, theirs will only become permanent if it’s maintained. 

So Steve Rogers makes a plan of attack to get to know James Buchanan Barnes all over again. 

 

Part of it is easy, because now he knows for sure that Bucky wants him around. That he isn’t making things worse just by being present. Of course, he’s still left trying to befriend someone who’s been tortured and brainwashed for years, and he isn’t exactly light on the PTSD himself… but somehow the knowledge that he’s wanted makes everything seem easier.

 

The first thing he does is ask his friend about whether he was joking about calling him Bucky. That gets him a look and the smallest catlike smile.

“I never…. okay.” He sighs, his eyes dart to the side the ceiling in thought. “It’s not about James. James is my name, and I’m fine being called that. I just didn’t want you to think that I’m…. who I was back then.” Steve nods, opens his mouth to let the other man know that he’s very aware of that, but James just charges on. “I know you know that. Now. And to be honest I don’t mind being called Buck, either. It’s way more annoying having you stumble over what to call me. Seriously.” The dark haired man has mostly been aiming his speech at the floor, but he does flit a glance up at Steve to check his reaction. 

Steve is struck for a moment. He’s been listening, he really has, but he’s also looking and he can’t help noticing. Bucky’s a little curled in on himself, and when he started talking he shook his hair out from behind his ear to form a little curtain of privacy. These are both normal things. That’s what gets Steve- they’re normal things, now. These things that he’d never seen Bucky do before the past few months. There are already new habits and ways of being and he desperately wants to catalogue them all. 

 

He’s not sure what shows on his face, but Bucky seems to take it as tacit approval, and they slip into a comfortable silence. Steve was used to those, before the war, and he knows that starting a conversation with Bucky now is akin to slow torture- when he’s in the mood to talk, he will. So as they sit together, Steve starts thinking about how he’s going to change things for the better, get to know his friend again, learn all of these new quirks and habits.. all of it. 

 

Some of it is easy. He goes running with Sam and Bucky in the morning. He wasn’t sure, before, if it would make Bucky feel uncomfortable, knowing what his body is supposed to be able to do. He knows Sam hates being outpaced, and Bucky was always a competitive guy. Steve starts the jog hesitantly, making sure to keep pace with his friends. The thought of running fast… he’s not sure if it’s because it’ll make Bucky think about what his body’s supposed to do (and been forced to do in the past), or it’ll cause flashbacks to when the helicarrier went down, he just feels like it’ll be a bad idea. 

 

Of course, Bucky puts up with it for about half a mile before he calls Steve out. 

 

“Geez, Steve, you getting old or something?” His voice is tense.

Steve knows his face displays his emotions. He doesn’t even try to prevaricate. “Well, I dunno, I didn’t want to step on any toes. I mean, I know you hate to lose,” he snarks.

He expects Sam to jump in here, maybe say something like ‘you don’t worry about stepping on my toes when you run circles around me,’ but Sam seems content just to look at the two of them and smirk. 

 

Bucky, on the other hand, doesn’t hesitate to comment. “Fuck you, man.” And with that, he takes off sprinting, tripling their current speed and quickly disappearing around the corner ahead of them. 

Steve looks to Sam guiltily. The dark-skinned man turns up an eyebrow, his face comically calm as his body continues to work. “Go catch up with him already, Steve.”

So Steve runs. He runs. Since he and Sam returned home unsuccessful in their search for Bucky, he’s been aching to put his body to good use. Since Bucky started running with Sam (and Steve stupidly ducked out), he’s been sparring more heavily with Natasha, desperate to feel his muscles stretch and strain and exert themselves. He runs backwards for a moment to give Sam a sarcastic salute, and then he’s flying across the pavement, eyes already searching for long dark hair and a graceful body. 

This is what he was made for. It doesn’t matter if he’s running the same route he’s travelled a million times before, every time his body kicks into its highest gear he feels the same thrill of exultation. He will never, ever forget the way he was before; the tiredness, the feeling of arms and legs too weak to perform their task. Through war and aliens and fighting, he feels most alive when he allows himself to be...not quite human. Something other. He lets air rush through his hair and sting his cheeks, wind whistling in his ears. Finally his heart starts to pound in the way it never could, before.

 

A minute, and a few hundred yards later and he’s starting to get worried. How far ahead could Bucky have gotten? He knows that it couldn’t be this far, unless Bucky can run a hell of alot faster than Steve. A spike of panic races through Steve’s chest. He slows for a moment, glancing around to the barren trees on either side of the trail, letting his breath huff out of his body, wondering whether or not it would be too soon to go get Sam and start searching for their friend. His mind runs through ten different scenarios, ranging from a prank to the re-emergence of Hydra. 

 

“Steve?”

His head snaps up. 

Bucky’s body, clad in dark sweats, jogs into Steve’s view. Strands of dark hair flutter forward to shield gray-blue eyes from Steve’s gaze. “Did I.... was that wrong? I thought you wanted to run fast…”

Oh god. He reaches his hand out. “No, no, you didn’t do anything wrong. I couldn’t find you for a second, I got a little worried.” Understatement of the week, at least. His heart feels weirdly like it’s going to burst out of his chest, but with relief. He feels like he should be making a joke right now, but he can’t bring himself to.

The hair shield falls back, and Steve gets a clear view of the pointed eye roll. Bucky’s full, pink lips bow into the slightest smile. “Okay, okay. Can we run already?”

Steve nods, not trusting himself to speak. He can feel his muscles release, thirty seconds of worry enough to lend an almost physical weight to his chest. 

They run. 

 

Some laps they run together, the way they never have before. When they were young, Bucky held himself back, knowing that Steve would risk an asthma attack just to keep up. During the war Steve was always leading the charge, Bucky covering him from a vantage point on high- if they were together, it was with all of the Howling Commandos, and Steve wasn’t exerting himself. As they run, Steve revels in the idea of them finally being equal, at least in this.

Other times, Bucky slows down to run a stretch of the trial with Sam. Steve might join them for a minute, but it feels too good to push his body- he can’t make himself slow down for long. By the time the three men are finished with their run and heading home, Steve is glorying in his body, glowing with exultation. He is himself, doing what he loves, with the people he loves all around him. In this one moment he feels as impervious as he is supposed to be. Even though it’s a cold winter day, he feels warm. He looks over to Sam and Bucky, watching them banter as they remove their layers inside the door of his apartment. He couldn’t care less that, ninety years ago, Bucky might have joked with a smirk and a wink, where now there’s a deadpan stare. Bucky’s here. Sam’s here, Viola is here, Natasha slinks in and out of their lives as she wishes. Peggy might not remember him all the time, but she’s here with them in this new era. The world isn’t ending, there’s no big war, his body is healthy. 

In this moment, Steve feels invincible. He knows there must be a goofy grin plastered across his face, but he doesn’t care. He wants to wrap Bucky up in the biggest hug, tickle Viola, pull everybody onto the couch close together and wrap them in blankets and hot cocoa and watch a movie together. How long….. How long has it been since Steve has felt this way? He honestly doesn’t know. He tries to think about it as he finally starts removing his coat, too distracted to notice that his running partners have headed into the kitchen. Nothing has really changed. Yes, he and Bucky are working things out, but… nothing’s changed. So why does this day feel so powerful, so right? 

 

Before the Helicarriers, Steve can remember how flat everything felt. He ran, he went on missions with the STRIKE team, he went home to his old apartment: everything seemed distant and unreachable. 

“Steve?”

When did things start to change? After the Helicarriers things certainly weren’t flat...finding out that Bucky was alive felt like a knife ripping into his chest, the first time and every time he thought about it thereafter. But chasing after him with no success added a fog of hopelessness that made every action feel impotent.

“Hey, Steve!”

 

He can’t stop poking at this. Was it Viola? What was the magical thing that’s made him feel alive again?

 

Steve is thrown from his reverie as his body falls sideways. Of course- reflexes- he catches himself before he can fall, but as his head snaps to the right, Bucky’s glaring at him, a frown on his face.

“What?” 

“What?. What the hell, Steve? I’ve been calling your name for five minutes!” Bucky’s eyebrows are furrowed, his arm crossed over his chest, full lips pressed into a thin frown.

Oh. He hadn’t realized it had been that long. “Sorry, got caught up in my thoughts. What did you want?”

Bucky’s frown deepens, if that’s possible. “Forget that. It’s not important. What’s up your butt?”

 

Steve snorts. Shakes his head, looking down. “Nothin. Just thinking. You guys hungry?”  
The brunet actually reaches his arm out to touch Steve’s chest, stopping him from moving. “Yep. And you can help cook me lunch after you tell me what’s bothering you.”

Steve isn’t avoiding Bucky’s eyes, really. “It’s just…. I had a really good day, today with you guys. And I started thinking how long it’s been since I had a good day.” He pauses, not sure how to voice his thoughts. 

“Been a long time?” 

Steve shrugs.

Bucky laughs, a little breathy sigh. Steve looks up, ocean eyes meeting slate, kinder than he would have thought. “Over lunch I’ll have Sam give you the ‘windows’ speech he gave me.”

Steve quirks an eyebrow, silently questioning. Bucky waves it away, both men turning toward the kitchen. “Just this thing he told me.” His eyes peek out from behind his hair. “Didn’t really think you’d be needing it, though…” The thought seems to momentarily derail him from their mission for food, and he pauses to turn completely towards Steve. His brow furrows, and he blinks his eyes, obviously stuck on a thought. Steve doesn’t want to interrupt, but all the same his stomach thrills with worry- does Bucky know how messed up Steve is? The thought that Bucky knows how not normal his head is makes him sick. 

“You know, I’m glad you mentioned it.” Steve looks up at his friend, fear mixing with hope. Bucky, seeing the surprise on Steve’s face, shrugs. “I just… I mean, you’re probably the only person in the entire world that can understand what I’m going through in so many ways, and I haven’t even talked to you about it.”

Steve can’t shake his head enough. “No, no, no.” He shakes his head again. “I haven’t, you went through so much more, I can’t even…” But Bucky cuts him off.

“Okay, okay, I know that you didn’t get turned into a monster by Hydra. I’m not saying that.” He pauses, his face settling into the blank look that Steve now knows means he’s thinking. “I’m not interested in talking about that, anyway. But…. it seems stupid, right?” He passes his hand through his hair nervously. “I’m learning all the same stuff you had to learn. And I miss all the same stuff you miss. I mean, fuck- we both got frozen.”

Steve has to smile a little at that. At the idea of Bucky’s trauma, the incomprehensibility of their lives, being boiled down to three sentences. “You want me to tell you how I adjusted.” He wavers his head side to side in contemplation. “I don’t know how much help I’ll be. I can get you caught up on pop culture, but I’ve been back for two years and I still don’t feel like I’ve figured it out.” Is it a relief, to say that out loud? It feels like one. 

Bucky smiles. “I don’t need you to fix everything for me. I just… we should talk about it. Right?” His eyes search Steve’s face.

Finally. Finally, something Steve can offer his best friend that will actually help. He smiles, ducks his head. “Absolutely.”

 

 

✮✮✮✮✮✮

 

I am about to have the most awkward conversation of my very long, very fucked up life. 

What a milestone.

OK, I’m glad that Steve’s being less of an asshole. Actually, he’s been great lately and not even trying to treat me like I am who I was before, which is part of why I haven’t wanted to talk to him. 

 

Weird how, without being mad at Steve, my life suddenly feels a lot easier. 

 

Not that I’m sleeping through the night or anything, but most things are better. I’ve gotten used to moving around with one arm. I’m eating enough now that my body doesn’t feel weak all of the time, and eating with Steve and V and sometimes Sam or Natalia makes food taste less like cardboard in my mouth.

 

But with things mostly, weirdly, manageable, other things have come to a head.

 

Namely, Steve and V and their incessant fucking and how much it is killing me inside. 

 

Which has gotten me to where I am right now: sitting on the couch having the most awkward conversation of my life, at 1 in the morning. Because about five minutes ago, Steve came into the kitchen to get a post-fuck glass of water, and saw me curled up on the couch with a pillow over my head. Again. 

Whoops.

 

Stupid Steve and his stupid face, looking all earnest and perfect and understanding. 

 

I should probably say something, cause I’m pretty sure he asked me what was wrong at least five minutes ago. 

 

I sigh, lean my head back to rest against the couch, and close my eyes. I would rather spar one- armed with a pissed off Natalia than do this right now. 

 

“This is gonna sound really weird, so hear me out.”

Silence meets my statement, but I can’t bear to look at Steve if I have to talk about this.

“My hearing’s pretty good, you know? Even with the crappy version of the serum they gave me, it’s pretty damn good.” 

I hear a rustling and I know Steve’s shifting around. I can picture the confused look on his face… in fact, I know exactly how it’s gonna change in about thirty seconds. It makes me smile to think how quickly his face is gonna go from normal to tomato when it finally clicks.

“Oh shit. Oh shit, Bucky. Wh… I, um….. I never thought about that.”

Now I can look, so I do, and you gotta love the way things haven’t changed at all. No matter how big and tough this guy is on the outside, he’s still beet red, scratching the back of his neck and looking away all embarrassed. 

I snort out a little laugh, and Steve’s hands come to cover his face. He’s groaning lowly, and even though I’m shortly going to feel even more embarrassed than he is, I still revel for a moment in the sight

“Why didn’t you… no, of course you wouldn’t. Fuck, I’m sorry,” he says, the first half of his sentence muffled as his hands cover his face, the second more audible as he runs his fingers through his hair. 

I snort again. “Yeah, well that isn’t exactly the extent of the problem.”

Ugh. Ugh, here it comes. I hate feeling nervous. Nothing good ever comes from feeling nervous. 

I’m sure Steve’s got the dopey curious face back on, but I am definitely not looking at him again. 

 

“It’s…. well, hearing the sounds has…” oh god oh fuck seriously how am I saying this? Eighty years ago I would have had no trouble. Fuck my stupid, idiotic life. “I’ve been feeling… happy... again, which would, you know, be good…” Stab me, stab me now. Steve, go get your shield and hit me as hard as you can in the head with it. “Except that I can’t really…. take care of it.”

Cringe. I think I’m pulling a muscle from cringing so hard.

 

A beat passes. Then another.

 

“Oh.” Says Steve. Fuck you Steve, I swear to god if you laugh at me I will hit you with your own coffee table.

 

“Oh.” He says again. “Can I… It’s good, that you’re feeling… that’s, um great.” Gee, thanks. “Can I just ask… why you can’t take care of it?”

See, I fucking hate this shit. If I was normal, Steve would have laughed at me. If I was normal, this wouldn’t be a problem, I’d be teasing Steve about being loud and then I’d go find my own girl to fuck. Instead I have awkward conversation, trying not to hurt any feelings. 

I blow out a hard breath, slapping my hand down on my thigh. “I dunno, Steve, years of fucked up Hydra bullshit? Fucked if I know.”

He giggles. This asshole fucking giggles at me. Then, “I dunno, Buck, I’d say if you were fucked, you’d know.”  
God. Seriously? “Seriously?” I roll my eyes as widely as I can, trying not to let a smile out. “You are the corniest asshole in this city. Does V know how big a loser she’s with? Maybe I should warn her.”

Steve leans over so he can knock his shoulder into my side, even though it’s my left. “Yeah, yeah, she knows.” He sobers. “Let’s fix this problem. Can we fix this problem?”

I snort. “I dunno. I mean, it’d be nice not to hear the two of you going at it all the time, but at this point I’m pretty frustrated, I don’t really know what to do about that.”

I finally turn my head, and Steve’s got his serious mission face on. “Well, Viola and I can definitely turn on some music or be a little quieter.” His brows furrow. “So have you…. tried….?”

“Tried jerking off?” Steve nods. “A few times. It doesn’t work.” Maybe my arm wraps around my middle. I’m just feeling cold. 

“I’m gonna need a little more than that, Buck. If you want to. I mean, you’ve heard everything I’ve done with Viola for a while, so this… evens the score?” He tries.

 

Oh Steve. I scoff. “Yeah, buddy, sure.” I shrug. “I don’t know… it feels wrong. Like something bad’s gonna happen to me. Makes me think I can’t let go enough to let it feel good.”

Steve’s eyebrow raises. “Now we’re getting somewhere.” He smiles. “I’ve gotta talk with Viola… about all of this, actually, but I have some ideas. You and me, tomorrow night, first try at fixing things?” 

His damn blue eyes are so earnest it fucking kills me. I can’t say no. I nod. 

What the fuck did I get myself into?

 

✰✰✰✰✰

 

The next night, Viola’s giving Steve a good luck kiss before she heads out the door for a girl’s night with Natasha. They’ve been strategizing all day, but Steve’s still a little nervous. 

Viola smiles at him, her dark eyes shining with humor. “Go get ‘im, tiger.” She waves as she heads out the door.

Steve just watches her leave. He’s stalling, and he knows it, so he heads right for Bucky’s room. Bucky’s curled up on the bed, cuddling with Cat. Steve gingerly sits on the edge, all too aware of how this could go wrong.

Bucky doesn’t stop petting Cat, but he shifts to make room for Steve. “V go?”

Steve nods, then realizes Bucky isn’t looking at him. “Yeah.”

He gets an chin jutted his way to point. “What you got there?”

The blond man freezes for a moment and looks down to his hands, where he’s been fiddling with the bottle he bought specifically for this moment. “All part of the plan.” He takes a deep breath, bracing himself. “You ready?” He looks up to meet Bucky’s gray-blue eyes. 

Bucky just shrugs. “Don’t really know what I’m ready for…. but you’ll stop if I tell you to, right?”

Steve nods emphatically, widening his eyes and making sure Bucky’s looking back. “Absolutely. Literally whatever you want.”

Bucky nods. “Then tell me what I need to do.”

Steve blushes, but he refuses to look away. “Take your clothes off.”

The man in front of him snorts, and Steve’s blush only deepens.

“I’m giving you a massage. So it sounds worse than it is.” Steve reorients himself. “But I really do need you to take off your clothes and get on the bed.”

This time it’s a full out laugh, and Steve feels momentarily pleased at the accomplishment. He turns to give his friend some privacy, as he’s already dumped the cat out of his lap and started stripping out of his clothes. “Face down, please.”

For some reason, with every sound of clothing making its way to the floor, Steve imagines the body behind him getting more and more naked. Finally the bedsprings creak, and after a moment, Bucky calls out “Okay, I’m ready. For whatever this is.”

Steve turns around briskly, opening the bottle of oil and warming it between his palms for a minute. “I told you, I’m gonna give you a massage. I’m gonna put my hands on you and work out the knots in your muscles, okay?”

Bucky is lying with his face turned towards Steve, dark brown hair falling in locks over his eyes and nose and lips. “Never had one before. You any good at that?”

 

Steve shrugs as he contemplates straddling Bucky. “Viola seems to think I’m good at them.” That, too, gets a cackle, and Steve looks sternly down at the other man. “Are you gonna make everything that I say a sex joke tonight? I just need to know so I can prepare myself.” 

With his oily hands he pulls Bucky’s sheet up over his butt (uncaring about the oil, since he’ll have to change the sheets after anyway), and decides to bite the bullet and sit atop Bucky’s thighs. He realizes at this moment exactly how much touching of this man’s naked ass is going to happen in the next hour. 

 

Below him, Bucky freezes for a moment, then shrugs. That’s right, Steve had asked him a question. “The whole point of this is that I’m a horny bastard. Is it that much of a surprise that I’ve got sex on the brain?” He asks, his voice raspy and more and more like it was seventy years ago.

Steve doesn’t really know what to say to that, so he pours a little more oil onto his palms, places the bottle strategically, and rubs his hands together one last time. “I’m gonna touch you now, that okay?”

He gets a nod and a shrug in reply, and so he slowly, gently, places his hands on Bucky’s back. His hands start running up and down, spreading the oil, and he has to go back for more after a minute. The minute he puts some pressure into the strokes, a moan bursts out of Bucky’s mouth. 

Steve smirks to himself. “This feeling okay, buddy?” He starts running his thumbs around Bucky’s shoulder blades, then moves up to his shoulders, massaging as luxuriously as he knows how. 

Bucky groans again. “Jesus fuck, shut up and keep doing what you’re doing, Steve.”

 

Steve’s smirk morphs into a full fledged grin, and even though Bucky can’t see him, he turns his face away, still working industriously at the knots on the other man’s back. He works Bucky’s good shoulder as thoroughly as he can first, working from the bicep up to the neck, moans bursting spontaneously from the darker haired man as he does. He hesitates for a moment, working Bucky’s neck; he’s unsure how his friend will take to his other side being touched. 

“Can I touch your other shoulder?” He says, starting to work his hands down close to Bucky’s spine.

A sigh escapes from under Steve, more pensive than the others. “....y’know what? Fuck it, go ahead.” 

Steve feels that he’s a little tenser following his declaration, but it quickly dissipates as he continues his work. He traces down his neck, feeling his way down, unsure how differently the muscles work. It’s definitely tense, and after a minute or two he gets lulled into a contemplative state, exploring the geography of the body underneath his own. 

 

He looks at Bucky for a moment. The man beneath him has gone through so damn many changes, and he seems to be riding through the next one- this time in a good way. For so long after they found him he was skin and bones, refused to eat food in front of them, dark circles deeper and deeper. Some of the changes have been wrought by Viola, like the fact that Bucky has reasonable stubble lining his jaw instead of a matted beard; similarly his hair, although still long, looks a thousand times nicer now, shiny and clean. Viola’s a genius for all she’s done.

But in the past few months Bucky’s finally started to put on some weight, muscle filling in where it once did. Steve’s not sure what his friend will look like once this transformation is complete; will his body fill out like Steve’s, like it did when he was the Winter Soldier? Or will it be more like it was during the war? Steve’s just happy to know, despite the amount of calories his body is using up thanks to his version of the serum, that Bucky’s getting healthier. 

In fact, Steve thinks as he shifts his body, moving from massaging Bucky’s arm down to his legs, it might be time to call Tony Stark. As much as he dreads the conversation, as much as he knows that Tony and Bucky will be at each other’s throats, he knows that the man behind Iron Man is the only person capable of creating an arm for his friend. And he deserves one so very much.

Steve works over Bucky’s calf and thigh, marvelling at the muscle under his hands, taking satisfaction in its presence. He’s startled out of his reverie by a rumbling voice.

“You aren’t gonna massage my butt, are you?”

Steve can’t help the laugh that escapes. He moves his hands down to Bucky’s toes under the auspices of massaging them, just to see if he’s still ticklish there. A wave of relief and fondness washes over Steve when he sees the foot in his hands twitch and try to escape. 

“You just tell me where you want my hands, ok?” He laughs again as he moves to the other leg, wrapping the first back in the sheet.

Bucky hums for a moment. “Just keep going. Massages are the best thing ever.”

Steve doesn’t reply, just does as he’s asked. After a short while, he has Bucky turn onto his back, settling in at Bucky’s head with more confidence this time to work at the scar tissue that also lines the juncture at the front of his missing arm. He marvels again at the muscle starting to develop on Bucky’s chest; the other man is fairly conservative about showing his body, and Steve is pleased to see the change. 

This massage has been so meditative, so relaxing for Steve as well, that it takes him a second to notice; Bucky’s hard, the dark blue sheet tented considerably over his groin. It kicks Steve back to the reason he’s here. As he works up Bucky’s body to finish at his head, Steve mentally gears himself for what he’s about to do. 

As his fingers work the prodigious knots out of Bucky’s jaw and temples, Steve leans close. “Feels good, right?” He whispers in his friend’s ear, slowing his fingers down slightly.

Bucky hums again. “Absolutely. I’m a puddle.” He takes a deep, releasing breath and Steve can’t help but smile for a minute, pleased already with how good he’s made this man feel. 

Now for the hard part. “Well, one part of you’s definitely not relaxed.” He keeps his tone light, hoping to strike the right balance of casual and serious that will make it so Bucky doesn’t feel attacked, and can’t brush it off as a joke. His hands continue working, moving to Bucky’s neck.

 

Bucky’s dark eyelashes flutter, though they ultimately remain closed. “Yeah, well, weren’t you supposed to have some bright idea for that?” He joked. “I’m not complaining, though, if I get a massage every time I complain about being horny.” 

Steve huffs out a laugh in solidarity, moving his right hand down to Bucky’s right shoulder. His hand, still coated in oil, glides down Bucky’s arm and grabs his hand, moving it gently to his erection. “Well, let’s see if my bright idea works.” Everything he says right now feels weirdly sexy; he’d never normally be able to talk like this, but it’s the strangest mixture of things; he’s talking to his best friend, who he’s known forever. While his actions are undoubtedly sexual, he feels more relaxed than he ever would trying this with Viola for the first time. 

 

He can hear the hitch in Bucky’s breath as their hands together pull away the sheet, exposing Bucky’s cock. It’s rock hard, and even in the low light Steve can see that it’s nearly purple, precum dripping from the head. His inability to come must make the slightest arousal painful. 

Steve pauses for a moment. “This okay?” He whispers in Bucky’s ear. He can feel Bucky shudder from his breath tickling his neck. He’s so frightened right now that, honestly, at the slightest sign that this isn’t wanted, he’ll bolt. At the same time, part of him….wants to do this. 

 

There’s a lull. Steve can hear and see Bucky shift minutely. Then his hand, still wrapped around Bucky’s, is tugged slightly towards the stiff prick in front of it. Steve takes over from there, slowly moving them close. Bucky’s hand opens in anticipation, and Steve closes his around the top, finally at their mutual destination. 

Even that slight contact is enough to cause a sharp inhalation from the body in front of him. Though, as Steve relaxes into this position, he realizes it’s kind of awkward, him leaning over Bucky to do this. He scoots down and to the right, making sure not to remove his hand as he lays on his side on the bed, unsure as to how much contact his friend would like. 

Once he’s settled, he starts moving their hands gently up and down. Bucky hisses and his hips thrust slightly. A thought occurs to Steve just then, and he quickly fumbles for the massage oil, pouring some over their hands to ease their path. He sets up a slow rhythm, stroking their hands from the base of Bucky’s cock all the way up to swirl around the tip, making sure to rub all of the spots that are sensitive on his own. He can feel Bucky’s arm stuttering under his own, losing muscle control due to the sensation. Bucky’s hips are writhing, thrusting up and grinding into the bed jerkily in reaction. He can’t help but watch what’s happening; his glance darts up the body in front of him- past the clenching stomach muscles, the pink nipples, chest lightly dotted with hair, Bucky’s head is thrown back in pleasure, his neck arched. His dark hair is thrown across the pillow, his eyebrows furrowed, eyes closed in concentration. Bucky’s teeth are biting into his full bottom lip, his breath coming hard.

Who is this man before him? This is the first time Steve’s noticed just how much his body has changed as he’s healed, these last months. But the expression on his face, the pure vulnerability that Bucky’s showing right now, might be the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Steve’s torn between the desire to draw it, and never wanting to stop making him feel this way. 

A groan tears its way past the brunet’s lips. Steve’s attention is drawn away from Bucky’s face, back down to what their hands are doing. The other man’s body is so tense his back is arching off of the bed. He can only imagine what Bucky must be feeling right now; some mixture of pleasure and fear, nervousness and uncertainty and desire. 

“It’s okay, Bucky. You’re safe.” He whispers in his ear. 

Bucky whimpers in response, and Steve can feel his hand start to speed up beneath his own. He quickly matches the pace, and Bucky starts panting, the tension visibly building in his body. 

“C’mon, Bucky, let go.” 

They work together for a short minute, and Steve can feel the moment it’s too much for Bucky, when his hand falters, too caught up in sensation to purposefully control his body. Steve’s hand picks up the slack, so caught up in the goal of Bucky’s pleasure that he doesn’t realize his hand is wrapped firmly around Bucky’s cock, keeping up the firm rhythm he’s started as Bucky’s breathing falters. His hips thrust, toes curling, heels digging into the mattress. Steve can feel the moment he starts to come, the hot liquid starting to fall across his fist as he works Bucky through his orgasm. He doesn’t see it, though, too enraptured by his friend’s face. 

There’s no other word for it; he’s beautiful. The contrast of his dark hair and long dark eyelashes with his pale skin and pale pink lips is breathtaking. Steve is awestruck by the vulnerability, the openness of Bucky’s face in these few moments. He’s drawn in, breathless himself, mirroring the furrowed brows and gasping breaths of the man he’s watching. His breath is cresting in little shuddering waves, so visceral Steve can almost feel himself coming as well. 

He’s on autopilot, all his attention caught up in Bucky, but he pulls himself back as he realizes he’s slowed his strokes, releasing Bucky’s penis, his hand now covered in thick ropes of cooling come. For a second he’s tempted to bring his hand to his face… then Bucky stirs, next to him, and he quickly wipes his hand on the sheet. It’s going into the laundry anyway. . 

His eyes flit back to Bucky’s face. Bucky’s hand pushes in between them to cover his eyes, and a long, shuddering sigh escapes the man. Another, shorter sigh follows, quickly followed by a breathy laugh. Steve’s mind is whirring, unsure of the protocol for the aftermath of jerking your best friend off, and as the laughter picks up in intensity, he starts to worry. 

A minute later he’s really worried, because Bucky’s light laughter (still a shock, as it happens so rarely) has turned into sobs. His face is turned into the crook of his elbow, and he’s turned away from Steve, closer into the pillow. Steve remains awkwardly close to him on his side, watching his ribs heave with each sob, unsure whether he should touch or comfort his friend. 

Hesitantly, he rests his right hand on Bucky’s shoulder, giving a few light strokes down his back. 

“Buck…. you okay?” He asks, trying not to let the worry show in his voice. 

Steve hears the sound of a throat being cleared, sniffling, and Bucky’s arm moves around, pulling the sheet up to wipe his eyes. A few more sobs seem to escape from the man in front of him, but after a moment more Bucky turns onto his back, his eyes red, his face devastating. 

“I think it’s finally time for me to go to therapy.”


	17. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We hello! I feel like I got this out more quickly this time, but it's still been a month. Oh, well.
> 
> Big changes this chapter, since we're moving towards the end. :)
> 
> And smut! 
> 
> Thank you for the kudos and comments, they mean the world to me. As always, I hope you enjoy- let me know what you think!

The light is dim in their bedroom, warm orange light fall on the varicolored walls. Steve and Viola lie beneath the blankets, insulated against the cold of the winter night. HIs eyes are closed, but the pair face each other, arms caressing, legs entwined, breath rising and falling at the same pace. 

Steve takes a long, luxurious breath in. He sighs it out, making an effort to let his body relax. Slender travel up his neck to comb through his hair, and he lets a smile fall across his lips, then reaches forward to place the gentlest, most chaste kiss to Viola’s forehead. He’s been on a roller coaster ride of emotions tonight, and he can’t help but revel in finally finding some peace. 

 

A chuckle escapes his lips. “Captain America’s gay.” His eyes stay closed but his arms wrap around Viola’s waist to pull her in tighter. He nuzzles into the long brown curls that smell of lavender. 

Through the hair he can feel her nod her head. “That’s what the assholes are gonna say, yeah.” She hums thoughtfully. “Every Republican politician will ignore any subtlety or distinction as soon as they hear you like cock. But you know what? Captain America’s taking a break right now. Worry about Steve first, and you can leave Captain America for later,”

Steve sighs again. He turns his face into her neck, rubbing his nose along the ticklish spots behind her ear, reveling in her delighted squirms. “I know you’re right. I do…” he nods, unintentionally tickling her further. “But it’s hard to ignore that responsibility. It’s an important piece of who I am.” 

Viola pushes at his shoulder, and he lets her roll him over onto his back, looking up as she straddles him with a businesslike expression on her face. “I’m pretty sure Tony Stark has a whole PR team that would absolutely love to deal with the media shitstorm you will eventually create when you want to come out. And he’ll get that chance, I know you won’t shy away from a fight. For now, you need to figure out what this means for you, and more importantly,” she crooks her eyebrow, “for you and Bucky.” 

There’s a curl to her lips as she finishes, and Steve’s pretty sure that right now she’s imagining what happened earlier. He’s also pretty sure that Viola’s mind is a lot filthier than reality. 

She’s waiting for a response, though, so Steve nods, pulling her head down to rest on his chest. He likes the weight of her on top of him, the solid strength in his body that lets him support her. Of course his mind travels quickly to Bucky lying on him like Viola is, and he shivers a little. 

Viola hums, running her hands under Steve’s shirt and around to the small of his back. “You’re thinking about it again, aren’t you?” 

His cheeks burn, but he’s already admitted to feeling aroused by what happened earlier. There’s no hiding now. He decides to turn the tables. “Sort of. Thinking about what Bucky might feel like with his legs around my waist just like you.” 

That gets a full moan out of her. Viola’s hips roll once against his own, her lips gently brushing trails up and down his neck. “Mmmm. Do tell me more.”

Steve’s hands find Viola’s hips, and he teasingly pulls them down to meet his own, cock growing to hardness. “What should I say?” He teases, fingers tracing circles on her butt. “Do you want me to tell you how hard I was when I jerked Bucky off?” He nudges her head to the side, nuzzling into her neck and blowing lightly on her ear. “Or should I tell you how gorgeous he was when he came, how much I want to see that again?” His hips thrust upwards, and Viola lets out a shaky sigh. Their lips find each other and his tongue delves into her mouth, a since perfect kiss.

As her hips continue rocking, her arms find his shoulders and her own mouth meets his ear. “I want to hear all of that. I want to hear how you felt when you stroked his cock,” she purrs, fingers walking to tweak his nipples through the shirt, “I want to know if you thought about tasting him after he came all over your hand.” Her lips dive to his skin and start sucking little bites while her hands ruck his shirt up to his armpits. He can’t help but groan, turned on by the sensations she’s giving him, the words they’re passing back and forth, and the escalation of his game.

He flexes his stomach muscles, lifting them both enough for him to pull his shirt all the way off. While he’s at it, he strips Viola of hers as well. His arms caress the warm skin of her back, pulling their bodies flush with one another as he undulates under her. “God, Vi.” He groans, his cock getting impossibly harder. “You should have seen how beautiful it was. You’re damn right I thought about licking his cum off my hand.” The groan that she lets out then is louder than ever. He kisses her feverishly, dipping his tongue into her mouth and tasting her before pulling back to keep going. “Honestly his dick was so hard and red and I wanted to taste that, too.”

“Fuck” Viola gasps, and their hips grind together faster, their breath picking up as they frantically rut against each other. She leans down for another desperate kiss, thighs wrapping tightly around Steve. “God I would kill to see the two of you together.” Another kiss. “Actually…” this time he can hear more of the mischief in Viola’s voice, and he knows the game is still on. “I’d kill to see you tied down, letting Bucky have his way with you. You’d be totally helpless, have to take anything he gives you.” Steve is rapt, unable to do anything but listen raptly to her words as their bodies climb the peak. “I bet he’d tease you, make you beg before he even touched your cock.” Steve gasps, arousal running through his body like fire. “You’d be so desperate to come, I wonder if he’d jerk you off,” she says with a sharp twist of her hips, “or suck you off with those pink lips of his,” she adds, licking his lips teasingly. “Maybe he’d even fuck you.” 

They both groan deeply before bringing their mouths together, their tongues battling for dominance as they work toward orgasm. Steve wraps his arm around Viola’s back, lifting her up and rolling them over in one swift move. His hips never lose the rhythm they’ve established, and he runs his hand up Viola’s side to her breast, rolling her nipple in one hand while he whispers in her ear. 

“The real question,” he says, licking a stripe up her neck and then blowing on it, “Is which one of us would top.” He grabs the panties she’s wearing in one fist, ripping them off of her in one quick jerk, eliciting a startled ‘fuck!’ from his lover. Two seconds later his sleep pants are pushed down and he’s thrusting into her wet heat, the two of them moaning and panting together, both an inch away from coming. 

As Viola’s hands reach around to claw at his back, he resumes his thrusts, pulling her close to him as he delivers his final line. “Which would you like to see more? Bucky working me open, splitting me on his cock?” His hips speed up, pushing them to their peak. “Or would you rather watch him ride me, have me begging for mercy?” Steve doesn’t even know what he’s saying, letting unfiltered thoughts pass straight to his mouth. He didn’t even know he was capable of this, but it makes it hotter for some reason.

Viola’s head is thrown back on the pillow, her hands clinging to him, their hips working in the perfect harmony that can only come with time. She’s all dark hair and pale skin, little cries escaping from her mouth in an escalating melody that tells him exactly how close she is. “Fuck, Steve. God.” She pants, completely overcome.

To be honest, Steve is overcome as well, more turned on than he can ever remember being in his life. He’s used to keeping a cool head, though, and he has just enough left in him for one last tease. First he catches Viola’s eyes, finding her brown irises and sending all the love he can through his gaze. This woman is incredible in so many ways, so trusting, so giving, so kind. So sexy and naughty and brilliant. 

His lips curl up in a smirk. This time he doesn’t bother whispering. “Or would you rather,” he starts, hips pumping harder and faster, hitting the places he knows she loves, “that we both...just….fuck….you?” He pants, finally ready to let himself go.

Viola screams, her body tensing as she surrenders to the orgasm traveling through her body. Steve’s a second behind her, breath becoming ragged as his hips stutter. His vision grays, sensation so intense that for a moment he can’t see or hear or feel anything else. 

A breath later, though, he finally shudders to a stop, bodies stilling, twining deeper in each other as their lips meet in a kinder, gentler way. Steve’s breathing slows first, of course, but they both can’t help but grin and giggle a little, still kissing with little pecks as they revel in their bliss. 

Steve lets out a louder giggle, and Viola peppers kisses around his jaw. “What’s so funny?”

He laughs again, marveling once again at the myriad of emotions that today has brought. It’s almost morning now, and the last twenty four hours have changed much. “Well.” He replies, pulling out of Viola but bringing their bodies close again, wrapping them back in their forgotten blankets. “Captain America’s definitely bi.”

 

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦

 

Every person I know is a piece of shit. 

 

I am so pissed off right now and I want to fight. Hit something. Get my aggression out. But Steve’s a fucking pushover, he wouldn’t give me a fight, he’d wince every time he came close to hitting me. Sam’s not even an option. Still awesome though. Natalia would probably rip my other arm off. 

I mean, she’d probably try to rip my arm off if I got within a yard of her (not that I ever, ever will).

I already went for a run this morning, but Steve and Sam were being all huffy, acting like me being pissed is a surprise. Fuck those assholes. 

They’re gonna throw me to Tony Douchebag Asshole Stark and they act surprised that I’m pissed. 

 

And don’t even get me started on Viola.   
Fuck. 

 

 

So I’m curled up in the corner of my bed with Cat, because fuck everybody else.

 

There’s a knock on my door. Here’s my bets in order of how likely it is they’re on the other side: Steve, Viola, Sam, Satan, Natalia. 

“Go the fuck away!” I yell. Pull Cat closer into my chest. He’s growing so big, and he nuzzles against my cheek. “At least I’ve got you, buddy,” I say loud enough for whoever’s on the other side to hear. 

The door opens and Steve pushes through. “Fuck you, too.” He deadpans, shoving a plate of food at me. It has been a while since I’ve eaten. But that would be giving in....wouldn’t it?

 

I scowl at him. “Could you respect my fucking privacy please?” I decide to spurn the sandwich, at least until Steve leaves. It’s turkey, it’ll keep. “I’m trying to sulk, here.”

This is the moment my brain decides to remember that this is the exact spot where Steve jerked me off two nights ago. I will not get an inappropriate erection. I will not get an inappropriate erection. Is it inappropriate to get an erection right now? 

Honestly I haven’t tried to jerk off since the whole thing went down, mostly because there’s been a literal shitstorm of bad news since then. We haven’t talked and the next morning, when I came out to the kitchen he was definitely blushing but happy and cuddly with V and I don’t know what that means. He’s been awkward as fuck, which is pretty much par for the course with Steve, nevermind immediately post-awkward-jerk-off-session, but he hasn’t been avoiding me. 

Cat digs his claws into my shoulder a little, and I move him to my lap so I can scratch him. And try to figure out what’s happening in the present.

Aha, Steve’s got his Earnest face on. “You know that I wouldn’t do this if there was any other choice. You want an arm, don’t you?” He could only possibly ham this up more if he puts his hands on his hips.

 

And there he goes, Saint Steve in full swing. I don’t answer his question, because I’m way too smart to fall for that shit. He’s gonna talk whether I contribute or not. Might as well make it hard for him.

 

Steve sighs, turning mildly disappointed blue eyes my way. Too bad for him I’m cuddling with Cat. He sighs harder. 

God this guy should win an Oscar. 

“Buck, you know this is the only way to get you an arm. And I know you want one. I don’t want to move into Stark’s tower any more than you do. But he needs you there with him so he can calibrate the thing and figure out how your nerves work….” he shows his nervousness, running his fingers through his hair. It’s getting longer, more like it used to be, and I wonder if that’s on purpose or not. He continues. “He probably has some other reasons but he started babbling about all sorts of stuff and I don’t know what any of it is, and probably no one else on the planet does either which is why even though he’s a jerk, we’ve gotta go.”

I roll my eyes. A jerk? That doesn’t even begin to cover what that asshole did to me, and I’m sure he’s been a jackass to about a million other people as well. Stone silent, that’s the way to crack Steve. 

 

I scritch Cat behind his whiskers, and we rub against each other for a moment. I can’t help but smiling, the little guy is so cute. 

Steve shifts, waiting for a response. He crosses his arms over his chest, and I know that he’s halfway to giving up if he’s resorting to Captain America Pose. I smile down at Cat as he grabs my fingers gently in his paws and licks them. I give him extra thorough pets after that, rubbing behind his ears and under his chin. He starts purring, and I wish I could purr too, because I’m loving how mad Steve’s getting. Since I’ve known him, Steve trying not to get mad and failing spectacularly has been just about the most entertaining thing I’ve ever seen. Well, until I discovered sex. 

 

Now I’m scritching Cat’s belly, grinning (internally only, of course- this is one of the many times that my ever present scowl is a benefit), contemplating starting the countdown to Steve’s inevitable giving in. He deserves it. For fuck’s sake, everything was fine two days ago. Everything was fucking great when I got to come for the first time in forever. I don’t know (ok, I DO know, but I don’t like it one bit) why the fuck Tony Stark had to call and fuck it all up.

Steve shifts again, getting restless, and I know he’s gonna cave. He’d better fucking cave. 

I don’t want to go. Never mind Tony Fucking Stark, I don’t want to leave this apartment (that isn’t even mine). I don’t want to leave our friends. I don’t want to go back to New York and have it be completely new and strange and wonder what I’m forgetting all the time.

 

I’m staring intently into Cat’s topaz eyes. Come the fuck on, Steve. Any second…..

 

Oh no. No, you bastard. 

 

V. Don’t do it, V! Why are you here, why are you leading Steve away, why are you doing this? I can ice him out, I know it. Nothing has to change. 

 

Poop. 

V comes back into my room, sits down on my bed and Cat, the traitor, goes right over to her lap. 

I let myself flop onto the bed, pulling the pillow over my head. I know it’s immature, but I also know that V won’t cave the way Steve will. Di

She rubs a hand along my back, and I flash back for a second to Steve’s massage. Don’t get hard, don’t get hard, that’s been something I’ve been thinking way too much lately. 

“I know you’re pissed. I’m sorry things are changing.” She sighs, and rubs soothing circles into the space between my shoulderblades. “I’m sorry I’ve got such shitty timing, and I can’t go with you. But I know that you know you need to go, and I know that you know that. Steve feels guilty enough without you making it worse.” 

Fuck. Turn the screws, why don’t you. I shift a little, peeking my head out from under the blanket. V looks down at me, smiling. “You know I love you, Buck. Every single one of us thinks this is a good idea. I know it’s a really big change, but it’s a good change. Right?” She crooks her eyebrows at me. 

I sigh. I sit up, leaning my shoulder into hers. “Why do you have to leave?” I’m not whining, I’m not. 

She laughs a little under her breath. “I know it seems sudden. You know…. this is the longest I’ve spent in one place since everything happened, I think…” That makes me look at her. Her eyes are kind, lost in thought. “And I’ve really loved it. But I miss moving around, I miss seeing people I haven’t seen in a while… and I have a good friend who’s gonna need help with her baby, and that’s the best reason ever to leave. I was so alone when I had Toby, I want nothing more than to make it so that my friend never has to feel that way. And she’s going to have her baby any day!” She looks at me, her eyes excited. “I’m done having children, but I still have a lot I can give to someone else, and this woman deserves it so much.” 

 

I grumble to myself. Sigh. “V…. will you come back?” I can’t believe how much I sound like a little girl. 

 

The brunette turns her body to face me, serious. She leans forward, eyes locked on mine, no hint of a smile on her face. “James,” she says, slowly and carefully, “I promise you right now that I will absolutely come back to you two.” We both take a breath, and a hint of a smile graces her lips. “I don’t know when, and I can’t guarantee that I’ll call often, but I promise you that I’ll come back.”

We stay like that for a moment, looking into each other’s eyes. When I’m satisfied that she’s telling the truth I nod, and the moment breaks. She smiles, and I feel a little bit less terrified. 

V elbows me gently to get my attention again. “In the meantime, though… promise me you’ll take care of Steve?” she says, lighter this time. “I know you will.” She laughs. “I mean, you know him better than I do, probably.” I shrug- at this point I can’t really tell. The memories are so jumbled up it’s impossible to tell how much is missing. “Either way though- take care of Steve. And let him take care of you, too, okay?” I roll my eyes, resisting the urge to say ‘yes, mom.’ 

But V isn’t done yet. She’s got a sly look on her face, one that probably means trouble. “Steve really loves you, you know that?” she says. I shrug, avoiding her eyes. I mean, I guess I do know that, but it’s not exactly something we’ve talked about. And I’m not sure how much of me there is left to love. I don’t say any of that, because I might (maybe) be ready to talk to a professional, but it’s definitely too soon for me to say things like that to anyone else. 

Of course, V won’t take a shrug as an answer. “No, really,” she insists, “he does. We all love you: I love you, Sam loves you, Steve loves you. Natasha….” she drifts off, shrugging. “Who knows what Natasha thinks? But that’s not gonna change, Bucky. Even when we’re not there, we’re still gonna love you and think about you and support you. It just means that you and Steve will be more of a team for a while. And I don’t think it’s a bad thing for you and Steve to get closer.” The scheming look is back, and it makes me nervous. Is she hinting that…

 

No. She couldn’t be. That’s crazy. I’m obviously crazy. 

 

I nod, anyway, to get her off my back. “Guess I’d better go let Steve off the hook, then.”

 

✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰

 

Bucky might be pissed off, but Steve is really, truly, dreading the move to Stark Tower… Avengers tower, whatever. 

 

There are a thousand reasons this is a bad idea: both Bucky and Steve aren’t thrilled about being in New York, never mind Manhattan, and having things be so different. It’s the reason Steve got out of there to begin with after the Chitauri- too much has changed, it’s a different place. It felt wrong all the time. 

Neither Bucky or Steve want to leave this apartment that has been created, with art on the walls and good food and the best of friends. It means safety, it means love, it means healing for the first time in a long time, for both of them.

Neither man is happy about leaving Sam behind. Steve understands (more so than Bucky, who’s still just pissed off), that Sam can’t pick up and leave at a moment’s notice, and that he has responsibilities here. But Sam’s been a rock to both of them, and it hurts to know they’ll lose that, as must happen with distance. 

 

Viola… that’s a hard change, but not unexpected, at least for Steve. He knew when they started everything, months ago, that she was a wanderer. He knew that she has friends in a dozen different cities all over the country, that she’s been on the road for a long time. Steve is grateful that he’s gotten so much time with her in one place- it’s been the better part of a year, after all- but still disappointed that the timing is overlapping like this. 

Honestly, he’s worried. They’ve talked extensively about what this means for them- what this means about their relationship, for sex, everything. He’d turned red in the face the second she brought up Bucky. 

“Come on, Steve, I’m gonna be gone for who knows how long. No sex for weeks? Or months? If I were here, I’d be telling you the same thing.” She tells him with a delighted grin. “Hit that. Or not… I mean, you go your own pace, and I trust you to talk to him. But I know you want him, and I think you should go for it.” 

Steve definitely isn’t ready to deal with that. They’ve been talking about his newly unearthed bisexuality, but Steve’s still adjusting, not exactly stuck in the mindset of a man born in 1918, just… figuring things out. It’s not something he’s spent any time thinking about before. 

 

 

The hardest part about this move is Tony Stark. 

Bucky’s still pissed, and rightfully so, about the shit Tony pulled in the summer with his arm. Steve’s still angry about that on Bucky’s behalf. Steve’s been talking and talking about this with Tony in the past few days, Steve emphatic about what Tony is and isn’t allowed to do if this whole thing is going to work.

Tony’s excited they’re coming, excited for the challenge of an arm, now that Bucky’s body is back in good enough shape to accept the stress and weight that it comes with. He had almost immediately begun talking about lasers, making it EMP resistant… it was when Tony had started in on adding a repulsor that Steve had cut him off and started making rules. Stark has told them all about the floor that he’s made, just for Steve “and your popsicle friend, too, of course, plenty of room for everyone that you want to bring, I mean you could have enough people for an orgy, you should totally have an orgy…” Steve just let him talk on for a while, not even bothering to give the occasional “mmmhmmm”. 

Pretty much, Steve is terrified of having to live with Tony Stark. He’s pretty sure that he’s going to have to be a constant buffer between Tony and Bucky, and the thought alone is exhausting. 

 

 

On the other hand….

After his first, overwhelming conversation with Tony, Steve had quickly gotten another call, this time from Pepper. She had apologized for Tony being Tony, and had promised to talk to him about Bucky. She’d also offered to set up Steve’s new floor with whatever furniture and decorations he’d like (and Steve found it funny that the both of them were trying so hard to build him the perfect apartment- he already had that). She was wonderful; warm, welcoming, and understanding of Steve’s hesitance in the entire endeavor. 

 

Even better, Pepper had sent him an email soon after, with the names of ten psychiatrists with various specialities, from severe PTSD to brainwashing to DID. Since Bucky had mentioned it (because he can’t think about that evening enough), Steve’s been excited to do this for him. Of course, now that they’re moving to New York, it doesn’t make sense for him to find someone in D.C., which means that Sam can’t help as much as he could have otherwise. Steve’s grateful for the help, wanting to make an unpleasant move the best it could possibly be.

 

The last good thing (maybe it’s a good thing...it is to Steve, if not to Bucky) is that, although Viola might be heading her separate way for a while, and Sam has absolutely promised to visit but can’t simply uproot his life, being the only one of them with a stable, normal career, Natasha is coming along.

Steve had been surprised, at first, knowing from working with her of Nat and Tony’s mixed past. But she wants to be closer to Clint, who apparently owns an apartment building in Bed-Stuy, and there wasn’t much for her in D.C. these many months (almost a year) after SHIELD had collapsed. He’s glad she’s coming, and incredibly relieved that she’ll apparently have her own floor. She and Bucky are still completely unwilling to be alone with each other or interact much at all. 

 

✰

 

And so time passes.

Viola packs up and goes first, leaving kisses and tears, giving Steve one last piece of advice that leaves him blushing, and a promise that he’ll always be able to follow the graffiti. Steve refuses to pack the apartment up; Viola has a key, and he wants her to have a place to come to if she should need it. But more than that, he can’t stand to see it all go. Can’t stand yet for the walls to be painted over, for the place where so many important things have happened to be emptied and washed and made blank for another life to reimagine. 

So he and Bucky pack their clothes, Steve packs his art, the shield, the books and music he can’t live without. He’s not sure how long it will take Tony to create a new arm for Bucky, but he intends to return to this place when it’s done. 

 

All too soon they’re packed and ready to go, everything (including Steve’s motorcycle) loaded onto a private jet Tony sent for them. Steve would absolutely have refused it if it weren’t for Bucky; he can’t imagine his friend coping with flying a commercial flight, and before Tony inserted himself into the situation, had been planning on driving a moving van up to the city. 

The flight is awkward, with just the three of them, Steve, Bucky and Natasha. He’s intensely thankful that Tony didn’t decide to tag along, since that’s just the type of thing he’d do, and he’s trying to ease Bucky into the whole thing, focusing on the positives. Bucky’s stressed, hypervigilant, checking Cat in his carrier every few minutes, and honestly Steve can’t blame him, uprooting everything that’s been stable in his life recently. Natasha has decided to be confrontational, today of all days, speaking quietly in Russian to Bucky and getting scowls and growled responses. Steve had made an effort to learn Russian in his search for Bucky, but he can’t follow the low utterances between the two of them, instead focusing on Natasha’s blank expression and Bucky’s defensive glare. 

Steve thanks whatever gods are listening that the flight is short, though the aftermath isn’t much better, Bucky tensing the closer they get to Avengers Tower. Steve himself isn’t exactly calm, though he tries his hardest to slow his breathing and ready for the chaos that is Tony Stark. They’re in a hired car, all but their essential luggage and Cat coming along separately. Steve takes a moment to be grateful that Tony picked an inconspicuous car for the job. Then again, if it isn’t over the top, it was probably Pepper. 

And then, before they’re ready, they’re there. 

 

✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮

 

New York is the weirdest thing…. it makes my brain stutter. As we drive in from the airport I see the top of the Empire State Building, which brings me right back to when they built it. But layered on top are ten other buildings I don’t recognize at all. Steve’s the only other thing that’s brought up so many flashes of memory, and it’s disorienting. I’m actually glad right now that Stark doesn’t live in Brooklyn, because I don’t think I could handle the overload of being there right now. 

There are other flashes, too. I’ve been here as the Winter Soldier. I can’t really stop those memories from coming, can’t control the memories at all and I have to grit my teeth to keep from making a noise as it comes back to me. It always comes back to Steve, to remembering him, when Hydra tried their damndest to eradicate those thoughts from my head. 

 

Steve might not have noticed, but Natalia definitely did. I glare at her, wishing at this moment that I had my arm back. 

But of course, that’s why we’re doing this whole thing. I feel guilty for a moment that I’ve uprooted Steve’s life as well, for my own dubious gain. Not sure how I can ever pay him back for all he’s done for me. Not sure where to start. 

 

 

✮  
We’re here. We’ve parked in an underground garage, and I work on not feeling claustrophobic. This would be a thousand times easier if Sam or V (or preferably both) were here. The driver leads us into an elevator, which whips us upward at ridiculous speed. I’m as close to Steve as I can be without touching. 

 

What the hell am I doing? No. Ok, I know why we’re doing this. 

But do we have to? I want to go back home. I slow my breathing, closing my eyes, focusing on grounding myself the way Sam’s taught me. 

I can do this. My palm itches for the knife I’ve had hidden in my clothes since we left D.C., but I don’t want to let go of Cat’s carrier. Anyway, if I have that in hand meeting Tony Stark, I’ll definitely stab him. 

 

Steve’s staring at me, face calm and patient but concerned nonetheless. I look up at him and he’s standing outside the elevator, holding the door open for me. The room beyond is a small foyer, neutral colors, with a single thick wooden door leading beyond. We must have already dropped Natalia off on her own floor, as she’s nowhere to be seen. 

Obviously I’ve been spacing out. I straighten myself, step off the elevator, avoiding Steve’s questioning gaze. I can fake being okay easier if I don’t have to look him in the eyes. 

So I become the one to open the door to our new lives. I’m alert, instincts I haven’t used in months coming to play. I move quietly, casing the room for threats as we move into it. It’s a living room, a vast expanse of open space and light from floor-to-ceiling windows. Bulletproof glass? I quickly scan the rest of the room for threats before moving closer to confirm. I won’t be able to stand in this room without knowing. 

It is. I check the sightlines to other buildings, calculating angles in my head. 

A hand landing gently on my shoulder startles me, and I make to drop Cat’s carrier so I can grab my attacker. 

Who is Steve, stop it Bucky. Fuck. Thank god I still haven’t really gained all my muscle back yet, because I know that right now Steve could stop me without question. My heart’s beating in my chest, and I try to pull myself out of that headspace. 

 

Steve. I turn to him, look at his face. I hate seeing that expression on it, the worried, wounded puppy dog face. I carefully place Cat’s carrier on the floor, opening the door and involving myself with coaxing Cat to come out. He’s reluctant to emerge, and I settle onto the floor to wait him out. 

Eventually Cat comes out, though when I reach out to pet him, he jumps a foot into the air. He’s sniffing everywhere, making his way slowly around the room, one piece of furniture at a time. He jumps every time Steve or I move, and it makes me want to scoop him up and cuddle him. 

Hah. Fuck. Is this what Steve is feeling right now? I glance upward to check. Yep. 

 

Eventually Cat’s made a full round and has calmed down a bit, and I have too- enough to actually notice the room we’re in. Besides the floor-to-ceiling easy access for assassinations and attacks windows, there are big, soft couches and chairs, all in different muted tones of blue. The living room opens to a kitchen, clean and gleaming, a small but sturdy wooden table and chairs to one side. 

 

There’s a hall leading to the other side of the building, but I’m not up for it right now. I’m starving, and Steve and Cat probably are as well. 

 

In fact we’re onto our second plates of food (made by Steve of course, the big mother bear) when a ding sounds from the foyer- where the elevator is. I instantly tense, standing like I’m going to run away for a second. I need to do something with my hands. I stalk quickly over to where Cat is sunning himself and gather him into my arms. A knock sounds at the door, and Steve moves to open it. 

 

And there he is, Tony Fucking Stark. He walks into the room like he owns it, cause he fucking does, and I hate him so much. Howard was a pompous jackass, but I could deal with him. I don’t think I’ll ever forgive or forget what Tony did to me. 

“Hey there, Ice Men. Tell me all about it. Is it good? Do we need to change it all? Have you tried the beds yet? Are they comfortable? I haven’t introduced you to Jarvis yet, but we’ll get you up to speed and he’ll figure out some settings for you. Plus, I have all the movies in the world, we’ve got something for everybody, probably stuff you saw a million years ago before you evolved like a Pokemon. What about food? I’m sure you eat a fridge full of food every day, I’ll get Jarvis on a grocery list for you. Hey! We should do brunch tomorrow, do a whole welcome to the tower thing. Do you like bacon? pancakes? French toast? Jarvis, make a note….”

All of this was said at lightning pace, Tony walking around the kitchen and poking the utensils on the countertops, not looking at either man. 

“Tony!” Steve barks. His arms are crossed, serious Captain America face on. Tony turns around, arms raised by his shoulders in the universal gesture for ‘I’m not doing anything!’ He doesn’t speak. 

Steve glances at me quickly. I realize at this point at I’m shaking, back and shoulders painfully tense. He turns to face Tony head on. “Tony.” His voice is calmer, but still firm. “We love the apartment. We’re still settling in, I don’t think we’re ready for all of that.” He starts leading Tony back towards the door. “Why don’t I come see you after dinner and you can show me Jarvis and everything else?” I start to relax infinitesimally the closer they get to the door. 

Of course, Tony whips back around, staring straight at me. “Hey! Jamesy, Jamie, Bucky, Buddy. I forgot about the arm. Let’s make you an arm, right? You should come up to the workshop tomorrow, we’ll get you fitted.” I stare at him, totally uncomfortable. He twitches, impatient. “C’mon, whaddya say? You coming?”

I inhale. Give Cat a pet. Exhale. Put on my deadest, most Winter Soldier stare. 

 

“You touch me, once, in a way that I don’t okay….” Tony makes as if to speak, and I shoot a glare his way. “I swear to God, I will let Steve murder you.” 

Still, I stare straight into his eyes, holding his gaze for a good moment. 

Then I turn down the unexplored hallway and find myself a bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How did I do? Feedback is my life!


	18. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I know it's been a while. Being on break means being with my family, which ironically means less time to work on this stuff. That being said, things are pretty calm right now and I'm hopeful another chapter might not take a million years!
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me. I love your comments and kudos sooooo much.
> 
> There's some stuff in this chapter that... well, hope you life it.

This place is amazing, and painful at the same time. Painful because Viola isn’t here, because Sam is back in D.C., because this isn’t their home. It’s the unknown at every turn, new and strange and unsure.

But amazing in so many ways: the beds are perfect, firm and wide and covered in the softest sheets. The furniture is beautiful hardwood, the walls blank and ready to be decorated. Their bedrooms are right next to each other, another bedroom across the hall (for Sam, they’ve decided), next to the biggest bathroom they’ve ever seen. Bucky can tell which room is his because everything’s set up for an amputee; the dresser drawers, the doors, everything can be operated with just one hand. 

They spend the afternoon unpacking a little, setting up Cat’s food and litter box, putting their clothes away and books away. Steve sets his art supplies up in the massive living room, and they go through the kitchen a little more closely, finding many supplies there that can be used with one hand. Steve can tell that it pisses Bucky off a little, probably because they both realize that Tony put a lot of thought and effort into a disability when the entire point of his being here is to get his arm back. It’s a big gift, or else it’s a big clue that it’s not going to happen like he thought it was.

They eat again, Bucky not noticing how big a portion Steve’s given him (hey, there’s no one else to compare his meal to, and Steve eats enough for three). Afterward, Steve leaves Bucky to play with Cat and heads up to Tony’s floor, the elevator taking him automatically to the right floor. Tony excitedly greets Steve, pulling him deeper into an opulent but comfortable living room and pushing him to sit down on a couch all within thirty seconds of his arrival. Pepper’s there, too, and Steve greets her for the first time, overcome by her warmth as well as her seeming strength and calm management of Tony, shooing him away to fetch drinks. 

Steve accepts a Shirley Temple from Tony, and as soon as the three of them are seated, Tony starts in on the interrogation.

“So where’s the Barbie to your Ken? I’m shocked she decided not to move with you guys. Did she ditch you? Try to throw you over for Bucky?”

Steve takes a slow sip of his drink, knowing the longer he takes to answer the crazier it will make Tony. “I’m amazed that you’ve waited this long to ask.” He quirks an eyebrow at Pepper, who flashes an understanding smile back at him. “Viola likes to travel. She’s got a friend who’s about to have her first baby by herself, and she wanted to be there to support her. The timing just happened to coincide.”

Pepper leans forward. “I haven’t met her, will you tell me about her?”

Steve starts to answer, but Tony interrupts. “Wait a second. How long is Mrs. America going to be gone for?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Not sure yet. At least three months. I know Viola pretty well, I’m guessing she’ll stop and see some other friends on the way back over here as well, so probably longer.”

Tony grimaces and widens his eyes. “So, what… you just won’t see her for months?” He pauses, as if thinking, though a little too dramatically for it to be a real reaction. “You did lose your virginity, right? I mean, do you realize that you’re not gonna get laid for a quarter of a year at least? Is this a Catholic guilt thing?” Pepper elbows her boyfriend in an attempt to silence him, but he dodges her arm and keeps on. “Are you at all worried about your girl cheating on you? I had Jarvis check your phone. She doesn’t have a phone number. How are you going to keep in touch?”

Steve smiles, and sits back further in the white leather couch he’s sitting on. He waits until Pepper gets done actually managing to swat Tony on the thigh to speak. “She doesn’t have a phone, though really, thanks for snooping, Tony,” he says with a pointed look. “I really, really don’t need to share any part of my relationships with you at all, but I’m going to try to explain it.”

He sighs, already exhausted by this conversation. “Viola doesn’t have a phone, hasn’t for years, doesn’t want one. She can always borrow a friend’s phone if she really wants to talk, and I have the phone number of the friend she’s staying with. Unlike you, apparently, sex is not the most important part of my relationship, and I’m not going to die if I don’t get laid for a while.” He rolls his eyes. Tony looks like he’s going to interrupt again, and Steve puts up a finger to silence him, giving him a stern glare. “I’m definitely not worried about Viola cheating on me, because I won’t consider Viola being with other people ‘cheating.’ Viola’s poly, and we had plenty of talks about the boundaries of our relationship before she left.” Steve crosses his arms over his chest, and raises an eyebrow at the man sitting across from him. 

Tony’s gaping in shock. In fact, Pepper looks a little taken aback as well. Steve revels in the silence that has settled over the room, as well as the expressions on their faces. Tony recovers first, throwing his arms up. “I need to re-evaluate my life choices, nothing is sacred anymore, I need a drink, I need to go for a cruise in the suit, I need to talk to my therapist.” He stands up and walks out of the room, heading for the elevator still muttering to himself. 

The room falls silent for a moment, and Steve takes advantage of the time to admire the view, which at night is fantastically stunning. You can see most of New York from here, and the lights stretch on farther than he would ever have thought. It’s more proof that the city has changed irrevocably. 

He hears Pepper shift, and turns back to her with a smile, which she returns. Before she can change the subject, Steve pounces.

“That’s actually something I could probably use your help with, actually. Or, at least, Natasha’s told me something to that effect.”

Pepper raises an eyebrow. “I’m happy to help with anything, Steve. What is it you want me to do?”

He ducks his head for a moment. This is the first time he’ll come out to anyone that’s not one of his best friends, and he does get a twinge of nervousness in his stomach. Still, he can’t hide forever. He raises his head and looks her straight in her blue eyes. 

“I was, um, hoping you could... help me come out. I mean… I don’t want to do it right away, but Nat and Viola were saying that when I’m ready, you’d be a good person to have in my corner.” 

As his words come forth, Pepper freezes momentarily before smoothing her hair back and composing herself again, settling herself with what Steve thinks is likely a well used smile. 

“Well, you’ll definitely want me in your corner, I can tell you that. I have to ask though- what specifically are you coming out as? It will change the game plan quite a bit.”

Steve feels his his cheeks heat at his own stupidity. “Oh. Um, Bisexual. Or Pansexual? I haven’t quite gotten that part figured out yet, which is part of why I think I should wait.”

Pepper’s warm, kind smile makes a resurgence. “Well, that I can handle. Don’t worry about it. I’ll start plotting, and we’ll have a game plan ready for you whenever you say ‘go’.” She winks at him cheekily. “I have the feeling that you’d probably like to help with the strategy, whenever it happens.”

Steve flat out laughs at that, not a little filled with relief. “You bet I would.”

Chest feeling a thousand times lighter, he sips his drink again. Now if only telling Bucky were that easy……

However, his thoughts are interrupted when Pepper claps her hands. “Well. Now that that’s all settled… and I promise you, I’ll handle Tony, don’t you worry…..why don’t we get you acquainted with Jarvis?”

 

 

Steve returns downstairs with a somewhat befuddled introduction to all things JARVIS, a plan for whenever Bucky is ready for Tony to work on his arm, and a strange hope for the next few months. It’s late, and they’re both tired, but the bedrooms, as optimal as they could be, are strange and unfamiliar. Instead Steve uses his newfound knowledge of JARVIS to find them a French movie that Viola recommended, Brotherhood of the Wolf. They lie slumped together, shoulders touching, sharing heat, and watch the action. 

The movie is so good that they don’t move through the whole thing. When it’s done, though, Steve is flooded with the desire to have Viola there to share it with him, suddenly less able to go to sleep than before. He gets up and raids the cupboards until he finds popcorn and dark chocolate, and they sit and watch another movie- this time, JARVIS’ recommendation of Lilo and Stitch. It makes Steve laugh, and make comments about Thor, the Chitauri, and real aliens being a bit less adorable in real life. 

Halfway through, though, Bucky starts getting antsy, restless. Steve asks if they should turn it off and go to bed, but the emphatic “no!” put that idea to rest. 

Then he realizes. 

 

“Hey, Buck… have you…. you know, gotten off since the last time we, um… I… helped you?” 

 

Real fucking smooth, Rogers. This is painfully awkward.

 

Bucky just shifts, though. His rough voice doesn’t mock. “Haven’t tried. Things have been pretty busy, and I’m…. I dunno.”

 

There’s a lot that just went unsaid, and it is mostly to do with fears. Steve doesn’t turn look at Bucky right now, feeling that’s too much pressure on his friend. “Don’t feel like doing it, or feeling the same things as before last time?” Why is he pushing this? Is it wrong to be doing this with his friend if Bucky doesn’t know that Steve is attracted to men? Is it wrong if Steve touches Bucky even if Bucky wants it? 

“Same thing as before.” Steve nods, but Bucky keeps going. “Not as bad, it really….helped. To, you know, know that I’m ok.” Steve nods again, this time waiting in silence because he knows Bucky’s got more to say. “Still not sure I feel safe enough to let go by myself.”

Steve nods for the thousandth time, because his stupidity knows no bounds. “Do you… want my help?” Bucky snorts, and Steve shoves at him with his shoulder. “C’mon, I’m trying to be sensitive here! This is a weird position to be in, it’s not like I’ve ever done this before.”

Bucky laughs again, and pushes Steve’s shoulder back. “Sorry, buddy. Not trying to laugh at you, it’s just pretty stupid for us both to be dancing around this.” As he jokes, his voice lightens a little, sounds more like the Bucky before the ice. “I mean, we’re just talking about jerking off. I’ll put it simple for you… yeah.” He pulls his hand through his long locks, though his fingers tangle halfway through and he gives up. “I wouldn’t mind…. would you just, kinda, sit here with me while I do it? I wanna try doing it myself, but I…..’d rather have you here.”

 

Steve nods for the millionth time. “Yeah, Buck, whatever you want.” He sits up on the couch, making sure to face forward, not really sure what to do with himself and suddenly all too aware of the placement of his body. Why do his hands feel so awkward right now? 

Also, this brings up another….situation. In Steve’s pants. Because the thought of Bucky jerking off is definitely arousing. Steve shifts uncomfortably, hoping desperately that Bucky won’t notice he’s half hard. 

 

Then Bucky sighs, leaning back into the couch next to him, and all of Steve’s attention shifts to what’s about to happen. Out of the corner of his eye Steve sees Bucky sink deeper into the cushions, letting his head fall back against the pillows. His hand runs up and down his thigh a few times before slowly moving towards his pants, unbuttoning the clasp before stilling. 

Again Bucky releases a breath, this one more excited than relaxed, and the hand snakes up to his chest. Steve barely refrains from thrusting up into the air with his hips; the idea of Bucky teasing himself, working himself to arousal, teasing his nipples, and Steve right next to him unable to move… he barely stifles a gasp. He’s dizzy with arousal, skin too tight and tingly, body starting to warm.

 

The hand plucks at Bucky’s nipples for a moment, circling, rubbing, pinching through his shirt. Then it dives down, comes up again with the shirt pushed up to his chest, for more. The hand trails through the light layer of hair on the chest, finally sliding over to Bucky’s other nipple, and as it starts working Bucky releases a shuddering gasp that’s far, far too hot for Steve to deal with. 

Steve works desperately to keep himself still, to let Bucky have his time without inserting himself and his own arousal into the situation. By some fucked up twist of fate, though, Steve feels more aroused by the thought of having to stay still and silent. His toes curl into the carpet, and he attempts to settle himself into the couch and tune Bucky out, to no avail.

 

Bucky’s hand slowly teases its way back down his chest, down the thin trail of hair running into his pants. He sighs, grasping his cock and pulling it out. Steve surreptitiously clenches his right hand, the one that’s resting farthest from Bucky, digging his nails into his palm. The momentary pain even spikes his arousal, and he looks out of the corner of his eye at what’s in Bucky’s hand.

 

It’s as beautiful as he remembers. Thick and hard and flushed, the head peeking out of its foreskin. Bucky’s hand stutters up and down, obviously hesitant, though as he repeats the motion his hips buck up into his hand and his head, staring intently down at his groin, falls back onto the couch. The tiniest sigh escapes from his mouth, and his hand picks up speed and confidence, starting to work quickly over his cock. 

 

Steve is painfully hard in his pants now, and although it’s not too obvious, he wishes he could adjust himself without drawing attention to it. He’s astounded by his ability to be so turned on he’s on fire and guilty for feeling that way at the same time. Every move that Bucky makes stokes the fire, and every time a gasp or sound falls out of his mouth, Steve’s whole body lights up. 

 

Steve closes his eyes for a minute, vacillating between trying to calm himself down and basking in what’s happening. It takes him a moment to realize that all of the sounds have stopped. He opens his eyes, and cautiously glances over at Bucky, only to realize Bucky’s looking back at him. 

He blushes furiously. “What?” He’s too flustered for subtlety. 

 

Bucky shrugs, shaking his hair over his face in a practiced, introverted, motion. “It’s weird having you there.”

 

Steve’s face instantly feels hot, his chest burning with a strange mix of sadness, shame, and embarrassment. “That’s okay, I can go….” he stammers out as he starts to move off the couch, trying to angle his crotch away from Bucky.

 

“No!” Bucky blurts, reaching his arm out to grab Steve’s. Steve sits back down, still not sure where to look as Bucky’s still-hard penis sits exposed on his lap. 

 

Bucky sighs. “I don’t…. I mean…..” He whines in frustration, “I want you here. If, if that’s still okay.” His eyes are cast down, brow furrowed, hand absently clenching nothing. “I just….. can you jerk off too, or something? I feel….” he stops, obviously not able to find words. “Could you just do it too?”

 

Steve almost wants to laugh, he’s so relieved. And immediately guilty, because the thought of masturbating next to Bucky has his flagging erection coming back to life. He nods silently, settling himself back down next to his friend, facing forward with his hands on his thighs. 

 

There’s a moment of utter silence, of awkwardness, of the potential for disaster. Then Bucky shifts, nodding. “Let’s get this show on the road, then,” he says. 

Steve’s terrified, so he tries to force his body to relax, but otherwise makes no move until Bucky’s hand starts heading back towards his cock. Then he allows himself to really relax, and his right hand drifts to the button on his pants. It would feel good to open his pants…. he’s simultaneously trying to remember this forever and block it out; he’s worried that he’ll do something, say something, that will tip Bucky off to the fact that he likes this a little too much. 

Still, before he knows it his pants are open and he’s trying to decide how to do this. He glances sideways at Bucky, and sees he’s already started a slow rhythm up again, stroking lightly up and down his shaft, pausing occasionally to fondle his balls. 

Bucky looks up at his face. Steve almost expects a Brooklyn accent to spit out ‘C’mon, Steve, whaddya waiting for?’ but instead, his gravelly voice asks, “You ok?”

“Yeah.” Steve responds. With a shaking hand, he releases his cock from his pants. It feels too good already, and he knows he’s too aroused for this to take long. He starts stroking, spitting into his hand and thumbing the head while his left hand drifts down to his balls. Bucky’s picked up the pace, working himself thoroughly, the tip starting to get wet with precome. 

Steve can’t help but match his pace to Bucky’s, and it’s good, pushing him toward orgasm just fast enough. His whole body feels like an extension of his cock and he’s so fucking hard, the entire world exists on this couch right now. A sigh escapes his mouth and he tilts his hips back a bit, slouching down into the cushions. Just watching Buck finding pleasure next to him is enough to make his hand speed up again as he listens for the tiny gasps and moans that make their way to his ears. 

 

He can feel his orgasm starting to build in his spine now, and he wants to draw it out, wants to wait for Bucky, wants everything to be for Bucky, so he keeps himself riding the edge, slowing down just enough to keep going. He can’t help but let out a light sigh, and he feels so shy right now, wondering what Bucky thinks of this whole thing. 

Then, of course, Bucky lets out his own, full-fledged groan, and Steve has to stop himself from coming right then. Bucky is right next to him, practically touching him, and now his hand speeds up to match his friend’s, and he’s trying not to fuck up into his hand, his breath coming faster. He can feel the tension in Bucky’s body, can feel his muscles straining, unable to let go. This is Bucky’s irrational fear; that his release would release the Winter Soldier

“It’s okay, Buck. You can let go.” Steve grunts out, pausing his hand as he focuses on his friend.

 

With a shuddering breath Bucky starts to come, semen spilling over his hand as he works himself through. That’s it for Steve, and his hand barely has time to get back up to speed before he’s coming all over himself as well, toes curling again into the floor with pleasure.

 

They sit in silence together, letting the glow of endorphins run through their bodies. Steve holds his come-covered hand in front of his body, and stands, hitching his still-open pants around his waist with the other. “I’ll go get something to clean up.”

 

By the time he comes back with a warm, wet washcloth, Bucky’s sprawled out over the entire couch on his back, looking as feline as he ever could, practically purring with contentment. Steve tosses him the washcloth.

“Think you can get to sleep now?” He asks.

Bucky wipes himself off cursorily, tossing Steve the dirty washcloth. Steve catches it. “Jerk.” He waits silently for a response to his question as Bucky buttons himself back up. 

“Feeling like I could sleep right now. Don’t really know if it’ll keep when I get to bed.”

Steve shrugs. “Don’t, then. He heads to Bucky’s bedroom, grabs the comforter off of his bed, and brings in back to the couch to toss on his friend. “JARVIS, could you shade the windows for Bucky?”

He runs his fingers through brown locks, and Bucky arches into his hand, eyes closing. “Night, buddy.” He says as he walks to his own room. 

 

Once there, he sits on his perfectly made bed, staring at the phone held in his hands. He remains there, silent and unmoving, for longer than he’d like. Finally he opens up a text to Sam. Need to talk to you in the morning, call when you can. 

Then he settles in for a sleepless night. 

 

 

✮✮✮✮✮✮

 

Tony Stark is an asshole, and I’m one hundred percent sure that I will always think that. 

 

His taste in music isn’t bad, though. 

 

I’m in the gym, JARVIS blasting Led Zeppelin’s “When the Levee Breaks” as I, for the first time in months, move my body the way it’s meant to be moved. Tony’s leaning back against a wall, legs crossed, tapping something out on his phone while I try push-ups and pull-ups and take a go at the punching bag. It feels weird as fuck; my body’s just a bit out of sync, every muscle feels odd and stiff and weak, but the important thing here is that I HAVE TWO ARMS. 

Honestly between not having an arm and sitting in a corner of Steve’s second bedroom for months and before that practically starving to death and before that having muscles but being, you know, tortured and filled with chemicals and whatever other fucked up shit, it’s kind of a miracle that I have working muscles at all right now. 

Or it’s due to the Shitty Serum, whatever. 

 

Still I don’t care. Now I can start moving again, start building my muscles back up, because Tony says that’s the most important thing I can do.

Honestly it’s kind of a relief to have it not be my choice. If I had two working arms and no need, would I stay skinny? I’ve never been weak in my life, whatever I can remember of it. 

But I don’t want to be the Winter Soldier again. Could I be? Without Hydra? See, this is where the mindfuck happens. I want to be myself, but there’s no myself to be. I don’t know what I’m supposed to be like anymore. Do I want to be strong? Sure. Do I want to be “able to fight Steve or fight WITH Steve levels of strong? That chances of him getting into trouble again are pretty damn high, and I don’t know how I feel about being left behind. I have no fucking idea about any of this. At least having to bulk up for my real arm will give me some time to figure it out. 

 

By the time the long song winds to its close, I look up from the punching bag to see Steve’s standing next to Stark, arms crossed over his chest and a familiar frown on his face. Panic flashes through me for a moment having that look turned on me; then I realize that he’s looking at the arm. 

In the silence between deafening guitar riffs, Steve speaks up. “It looks like a skeleton arm. Why did you make Bucky a skeleton arm?” I can’t blame him for asking. The arm Tony hooked into my shoulder socket is pretty much a metal version of the bones in a normal arm with subtle differences you can see up close- each ‘bone’ has two parts, so it can move closer and father apart to make my arm move. 

Tony waves his hands, making his way over to me. “JARVIS, pause the music.” He makes to grab me by the shoulders, thinks better of it, and instead shoos me closer to Steve. I cooperate… this time. 

“My dear Captain Rogers, I know that you understand nothing of the science of prosthetic limbs, but I guarantee you, this is exactly what Grumpy Cat over here needs,” Stark intones in his showman voice. 

Steve just raises an eyebrow. Stark waves his hands again, this time towards me. “You explain it, I’ve gotta go meet with Pepper, she’s heading to Japan and I want to see her off.” He waves the peace sign at us as he strolls towards the door. 

Now Steve turns to look at me. I roll my eyes. “I guess my body doesn’t have the muscle mass to handle something like my old arm. This gives me something to use while I bulk up, and helps me train the right muscles, and Tony and JARVIS are collecting data in the arm about how it moves to help build the real one.” 

That’s probably more than I’ve talked in a week. Awesome, now I have an excuse to not say anything for the rest of the day. 

 

Steve smiles, and it changes his face so much… I don’t think he’s been doing that enough. Now that V’s gone, I’ve gotta step up, keep Steve happy. He shifts his weight. “OK. As long as you’re happy with it. It’s not hurting you, right?” He asks, his brow furrowed. I shake my head. He smiles again. “Actually, I’m surprised you’re done this early. But it’s good: Sam’s here!” He motions me towards the elevator bank. 

I’m ecstatic, on the inside, as we move. “Thought he was gonna stay in D.C. for a while.”

Steve tries to hide the guilty look on his face. Too bad he’s shit at hiding anything. “Yeah, I talked to him the other day and he decided to make a quick trip.”

Whatever he’s hiding, I’ll figure it out later. Right now I just want one part of normal back. 

 

✮

 

The next morning, I’m lying on the living room carpet, basking in the sun from the supposedly Assassination-Proof Windows with Cat. We had a good day yesterday, Sam oohing and ahhing over the tower the way that we should have when we moved in. Sam convinced Steve to order a ton of different food from some local restaurants, and we sat on the floor surrounded by cartons of food and watched movies. 

Even after Steve pulled a box of cupcakes out I didn’t realize. 

In my defense, it’s been seventy years since I celebrated my birthday and I had no idea that it was the tenth of March already. But good tasting food and Sam being here and movies with Steve and chocolate is better than any birthday I can remember from when I was young, anyway. 

Not much chocolate to be had for us poor folk during the Great Depression, after all. 

 

Whatever. I’m lying here on the carpet with Cat because it’s warm as fuck. I’m trying to figure out how old I am. I mean with Steve, it’s pretty easy….he doesn’t turn a year older on his birthday anymore, but we know he’s probably about thirty three. 

Me, on the other hand….. Fuck. I hate the way they both danced around the fact that I was frozen and thawed repeatedly like a fucking object. I hate the way they try not to talk about the fact that I was an object. I hate the fact that it would take way too many calculations to figure out how much time I’ve spent alive on this earth. Fuck it, let’s just call me ninety eight. I feel ninety eight most days, anyway.

 

 

These idiots, they remember that my serum isn’t as good as Steve’s, but forget it still means superhuman senses. I wonder if Steve just tunes out everything he isn’t supposed to hear. I’m too much of an asshole to bother with that. So instead, I get an earful of Sam and Steve’s private conversation. 

“You never know until you try…” Sam delivers in his Therapist Tone. 

Steve must shrug, I can hear fabric rustle. 

“Don’t look at me with those puppy eyes!” Sam again. “If you want something good, you need to get out there and go for it.”

Steve sighs. “You say that like you think it’s gonna work out. Do you know something I don’t?”

Sam barks a short laugh. “hey, that guy keeps his cards waaaaay too close to the vest for me to read anything like that; you should ask Natasha instead. I’m not saying it’ll work out, I’m just saying you’ll never know if you don’t give it a try.”

There’s a snort. “Yeah,” Steve replies sarcastically, “I should just walk right up to him and say ‘Hey Buck, remember how it’s okay to be gay now? We should totally fuck’,” 

There’s more rustling clothing, and Sam says something else but right now my ears are ringing or something. My stomach’s lead and I’m dizzy. Did I really just hear that? 

 

What. The. Fuck. What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck? They’re still talking, though, so I try to tune back in, curling closer around Cat.

“-fuck up our friendship. Being friends with Bucky is way more important than anything else. And he’s still recovering, and I don’t know what Hydra did to him….” Steve sighs. “I just don’t think it’s the right time yet.”

“That’s your prerogative…” Sam replies, all too casual. “I think he’s come farther than you think.” He sighs for a moment, and I can imagine the look on his face. Sincere... serious... big brown eyes staring right into your soul. “I just have this feeling that you’re gonna be protective of him forever, and at some point, that stops being an excuse. You know V would back me up, she thought the exact same thing.” 

What. She thought… what, exactly? Come on, Sam, I need to know. 

But of course, they decide to drop it, and head out into the kitchen. I close my eyes and pretend to be sleeping, curled around sleeping Cat. 

This requires some thought. 

 

✮

 

The woman’s name is Maria Radowski. She’s old and Polish and she speaks Russian as well. She’s willing to come to the tower to meet with me. Her white hair is pulled back in a bun, and she’s got honey brown eyes behind thick glasses. 

We just kicked Steve out of the apartment, now we’re sitting quietly, staring at each other. 

“What would you like me to call you?” Her voice is light, slightly accented, harmless. Of course, I’ve been tricked before. It’s far too early to tell if she’s a threat.

 

A beat passes. Oh yeah, I’m supposed to answer. I shrug. 

 

“That’s just fine. Let me explain to you how this will work. If you decide that you want to work with me, I’ll be available every day at this time. I’ll come here, and if you’d like to talk with me, you can. If you don’t want to talk, that’s okay too. It won’t change my schedule.” She tries to catch my eyes, make sure I understand. “When you’re talking with me, there’s a law that protects what you say. I won’t repeat it to anyone else unless there’s a risk of someone getting hurt or a serious crime being committed. Do you understand?”

She’s still looking at me. Her voice might be soft and gentle, but her eyes…. they see right into me. I nod. 

“Wonderful. When I’m here, we can talk about anything you’d like. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, and I won’t make you do anything. Do you understand?”

This time it’s a little easier to nod. 

“Wonderful. Do you have any questions for me?”

I look down, finally. Wrack my brain for what I could possibly be asking her during this time. Then I look up again. My voice cracks as I speak. “Yeah. Do you think sex ruins friendships?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I the only person who really wants to calculate their exact ages?   
> Also, a word of explanation before you hate me (and yes this will come up next chapter). Steve is wrapped up in physical attraction because it's new for him to acknowledge and he's figuring things out. That being said, he does NOT just want to fuck Bucky for fun. 
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks for reading. As always, let me know what you think! I appreciate your comments!


	19. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! It feels like I'm updating fast which is hilarious cause it's been a while. This chapter is a bunch of snapshots of Steve and Bucky. 
> 
> Thank you all SO MUCH for kudos and comments because they are amazing! 
> 
> Hope you like it. :D

“Parkour is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard of.” I say to Maria. She simply raises an eyebrow, relaxed into the back of her chair. 

“I mean… I get wanting to exercise. But why the fuck would you jump off a building for muscles? I’ve jumped off enough buildings to know it sucks even more than you’d think it would. I even get guys like Steve doing it, to practice for combat so they do it easier and shit. But regular people? No. Parkour is for assholes.” I’ve gotten really good at getting all of my thought out in one quick breath before I lose the thought or the courage. 

Now, of course, Maria leans forward, the light reflecting off her glasses as she moves. 

“Tell me more about the times when you’ve had to jump off buildings.” 

 

 

✰✰✰✰✰✰

 

Steve practically sprints to his phone when JARVIS notifies him who’s calling. He lunges for the black rectangle lying innocuously on his bedside table, simultaneously pressing the accept icon and pulling the phone towards himself as he rolls onto his back on the bed. 

“Viola?” God, he’s breathless, and it’s not the twenty second sprint causing it. 

“Hey baby.” Her voice is warm honey in his ear. He exhales a sigh, more relaxed than he’s felt in a few weeks. 

“Hi. Hi. It’s really good to hear your voice. How are you? How are things going? Did your friend have her baby?” He realizes he’s talking too much to let her answer, and shuts up. Then he remembers: he speaks not to the phone this time but to the room. “JARVIS, will you call Bucky up here? Tell him to come quickly.”

She’s chuckling in his ear. “Damn I’ve missed you, Steve.” He can’t help the smile that’s curling across his lips. “I’m good, things are good here. Theresa had her baby two days ago, it’s a little boy but she doesn’t have a name yet.” 

“Wow.” Steve realizes he has no idea what to ask about someone who’s had a baby. If there’s one thing he’s noticed, it’s that pregnancy and childbirth are radically different than they were when he grew up. “Um. Everything ok?” He rolls onto his side, curling around the phone, wishing she were with him right now in this bed. He feels the lack of touch acutely right now, almost tempted to wrap himself up in a blanket though he’s not even a little cold. 

“It was a hard labor, but that’s not surprising since it was her first time. She’s been sad that the father’s not here, which isn’t really a surprise. But she’s bonding well with the baby, he latched nicely, she’s starting to get mobile.”

Steve nods. He’s at the end of that particular conversational thread. It’s not surprising, that there are facets to Viola that he knows nothing about… and he already knew that this was one of them. Still it’s a shocking reminder. Suddenly he’s thinking about the fact that this used to be her life. “And you? How are you doing?”

 

Just then Bucky bursts into the room, dark hair flying, eyes flashing, beautifully animated. “V? V’s on the phone?” He whisper-shouts at Steve. 

 

Steve nods, motioning the other man onto his bed. Quickly presses the speaker button so they both can hear her speak. “It’s been good to see Kate. It’s been good to lend my expertise. I’ve been thinking a lot about him, but it’s felt… almost sweet.”

Nestled on his side on the other side of the phone, Bucky rests his head on his flesh arm and shows the tiniest smile. Steve motions toward the phone, widening his eyes, trying to get Bucky to say hi. All he gets is a quick shake of the head in response. 

“Well. I don’t know much about what you’re going through, but…. you sound good.” He tells Viola. “I’m glad you’re good. You know who else is glad?”

Laughter comes out of the phone. They both move infinitesimally closer to the phone in response. “Is it my favorite grouch?”

The grouch in question closes his eyes, but his smile grows wider. “Hi, V.” He says; Steve can’t help but notice that his voice is just a little smoother, just a little more like it used to be. 

“Hi! God, I miss you two!” She exclaims. “Tell me everything that’s happened. What’s the tower like? Is Stark treating you alright?”

Steve happily launches into a story. He tells her all about their apartment, about Bucky’s skeleton arm, about Cat and JARVIS and the laser pointer games they’ve started playing. She asks questions of both of them, and they take turns answering them. The next time he looks up, he realizes they’ve been on the phone for almost an hour. He feels warm and loved right now, and he can’t imagine stopping. He doesn’t know what to say next, but he can’t bear to hang up the phone. 

“Ok. Now I need to speak to both of you….alone.” Viola’s voice comes briskly from the speakers. 

Steve and Bucky exchange a glance. Steve knows what she’s going to ask him about… but what about Bucky?

 

 

 

✮✮✮✮✮

“V called the other day,” I say. I’ve told her a little bit about V before. By now I know she won’t say anything, just wait patiently until I’m ready to say whatever’s on my mind. Sometimes it takes a while to get my thoughts together. Other times, it takes a while to work up the courage to get it out. Sometimes it doesn’t happen at all. 

 

I exhale loudly. 

“She straight out said that if in a month or so Steve and I call her and tell her that we’re together, that she’d be happy for us. I mean, she hinted at something like this before she left, but….” I’m not even sure what to say about it honestly.

Maria does, of course. “That’s a big deal,” she tells me in a calm, unsurprised voice. “Does this change your plans regarding Steve?”

I shrug, looking down at the floor. “Honestly, it made me worried more about V.” Tears come to my eyes, and I hide behind my hair so she can’t see. “I dunno…. it just makes me worry that she might not be coming back.” 

 

✰✰✰✰✰✰

 

Tony’s dragged Steve and Bucky up to his floor for Thai food. Bucky loves it, which Steve’s pretty sure is exactly why that particular food was ordered. Despite being delighted by having two arms, Bucky’s still extremely wary around Tony, and Steve really doesn’t blame him. Tony hasn’t exactly apologized yet for what happened in D.C. 

When they get up to Tony’s floor, there’s a surprise waiting for them in the form of what’s practically a party. Natasha’s there with Clint, there’s Tony and Pepper of course, but more surprisingly, Bruce Banner. Steve hasn’t heard from him since they moved in; the day after, Steve had traveled down to his floor to catch up, but Bruce hadn’t been particularly forthcoming… more polite and reserved. At the time Steve had been disappointed but not particularly surprised. 

Tonight looks like an Avengers reunion. To Steve, at least. He can feel Bucky tensing next to him, on edge, totally unprepared. Steve sighs, frustrated already with Tony’s lack of tact or sense. He turns to Bucky. “Do you wanna go back down to our floor?” He whispers, leaning his head in close, completely unconcerned by the audience. 

Bucky’s shoulders are so close to his ears that Steve thinks he couldn’t shrug if he tried. Steve waits patiently, trying to block the rest of them out with his body. Eventually Bucky nods his head, then after a moment, shakes it side to side. 

“You want to stay up here?” Steve interprets. 

Bucky’s upper body spasms in a way that could be interpreted as a shrug. “Not gonna get easier.” He whispers. And fuck, does that make Steve want to wrap Bucky up in his arms and protect him from the world. This man is trying so damn hard, and there are so many obstacles. Steve is just a bystander, unable to do much more than cheer him on. 

And so it shall be. He forges the way into the living room where everyone’s picking through takeout containers, loudly greeting the others to take the attention off of Bucky as he quietly slinks into the room. 

 

No matter what Steve is doing, who he’s chatting with, where he is, he can’t help but watch Bucky as he orbits the others. 

Natasha’s the first to greet him, and for once she doesn’t antagonize him. Instead, she simply gives him a nod, which he returns. They ignore each other for the rest of the night.

 

Clint walks right up to Bucky, greeting him “one mind control victim to another.” Steve always thought of Hawkeye as stoic, reserved... but off the battlefield he’s hilariously awkward, verbose and tactless and endearing all at once. Since Bucky remains unresponsive to his introductions, Clint compliments his new arm as “fucking badass biker dude shit, man,” which of course draws Tony into the conversation. Tony pats himself on the back enthusiastically for his genius, but eventually notices the man attached to his tech, and immediately sets in on comments.

“What do I see here, are you wearing real, actual clothes?” He fakes shock, bringing his hands to his heart. “Legolas, you don’t understand what a big deal this is. Awww, Bucky Bear, did you do this for little ol’ me?” He bats his eyelashes. 

Steve wants to step in, but before he can, Bucky snorts and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, Stark, it’s all to look good for you. It has nothing to do with the fact that it’s impossible to put most clothes on with one hand.”

“You’re welcome, by the way.” Tony bows extravagantly. “Wait, are you saying that you actually have style? Did you pick those clothes out yourself or did Terrifying Spider Lady do it for you? I know Steve didn’t.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, and Steve feels about a thousand times better about this whole thing. “You don’t know anything about style, Stark, what are you even wearing?” It’s a good point. Tony is dressed in dirty jeans and a wife beater, obviously having spent the day in his workshop. Bucky, on the other hand, made Steve’s jaw drop when he came out of his room today. Wearing tight-fitting dark blue jeans, a gray button down opened slightly at the collar, and black leather combat boots, Bucky looks mouthwatering. It’s transformed him; his hair falling messily down around his face, stubble on his jaw suddenly looks purposeful and sexy. Steve definitely had to hide his reaction. 

Meanwhile, Tony’s miming injury, but Steve can see how pleased he is to banter. “Well then, wise clothing guru, please enlighten me as to all of my mistakes.”

Steve can’t help but laugh, mood lifted by what feels like progress. “Stark, you don’t even know what real clothes are like. We used to wear a suit and tie just walking around the block.” 

“Nobody wears hats anymore, either.” Steve, surprised, turns to Bucky, who spoke. Shaking his head, he smiles at his friend. 

“Right. Don’t get me started on handkerchiefs.”

“Garter belts… what happened to garter belts?”

“Oh yeah… Nevermind the fact that men used to be able to hug and kiss without everyone asking if you’re dating….”

“When we were little, pink was a man’s color.”

“And don’t get me started on hairstyles…. how the hell is messy hair a thing?”

“We used to shave with straight razors, none of this silly plastic crap.”

Steve’s grinning. This is the best thing that’s happened to him in the weeks that they’ve been in New York. Tony’s staring dumbfounded at the two of them, and Steve knows that they’ve got everyone’s attention right now, but all he cares about is the fact that Bucky’s smiling, having fun, finally just a little bit relaxed. 

 

Then Tony snaps out of his stupor. “I don’t care about anything anymore, we need to talk about about this ‘no homo’ stuff you’re telling me about. What kind of kisses did you give each other? Cap, did you cheat on Aunt Peggy with Tall, Dark, and Angry over here?”

Steve doesn’t hesitate to play it up. “Well, there’s all sorts of things I could tell you. I was in the army, too, remember…. But you know what? I’m feeling real hungry right now. Whaddya say, Bucky?”

The smile on Bucky’s face right now is one of the most beautiful things Steve’s ever seen. He desperately wants to draw that face; the curve of his lips, the plumpness of them…. it changes the whole shape of his face. His eyes, too, are lit up, dark eyelashes framing the slate blue of his irises. Steve’s heart is so warm right now, he feels so filled. His fingers itch for a pencil, to save this on paper forever.

Bucky nods, moving close to Steve and turning his back on Tony. “Yeah, I’m starving. Let’s go see what they’ve got over here.”

 

 

The rest of the night goes much better than its start. Bucky meets Pepper, who is beautiful and charming and perfectly polite, helping them both with food and drink and trying to make them at home. They eat a mountain of food, taking from as many different containers as they can. Neither one of them has eaten Thai enough to have settled on favorite dishes, just enough to know they both like it. As they eat they joke with Pepper about how different food is now from when they were young. It reminds Steve of when he met Sam, and he surreptitiously texts his friend under the table as they talk, just to say hi. 

 

It isn’t until the end of the night that they speak with Bruce; Tony insists that they all watch a movie, and everyone (besides Bucky) spends some time arguing about what to watch. Finally they decide on Wall-E, Tony making a long speech that boiled down to “it’s relatable for JARVIS, too.” When they finally settle down to watch, Bruce ends up sitting next to them on one of the many couches. 

As Tony is flittering about the room making noise and lavishing them with candy, Bruce turns to the two supersoldiers. He holds out his hand to Bucky. 

“I’m sorry I haven’t introduced myself before. I’m Bruce Banner.” He says in his slow, apologetic tone. 

Bucky shakes his hand. “Bucky Barnes, but I’m guessing you already knew that.”

Bruce gives a pained smile. “I did. I’m ashamed to say that I helped Tony with analyzing your blood and the chemicals produced by your arm. At the time, I didn’t know that he had removed it under duress. I’m sorry for my part in it.”

A beat passes, during which Steve’s heart is in his chest. Finally, Bucky shifts. 

“That’s okay. You didn’t know. And you helped, you know, with what you did. Knowing that I was in withdrawal from whatever they pumped into me. I’ve got no problem with you.”

Bruce smiles a more genuine smile this time, taking his glasses off to polish them. “I’m glad. And, uh, are you feeling better, now?” 

From the other side Steve sees Bucky nod. “Yeah. I felt pretty bad for a while, but… things are better now.”

Right then they’re interrupted by the lights turning off and a movie starting to play on the massive screen in front of them. Steve turns to pay attention, finally letting a satisfied smile take over his face. 

 

 

 

 

✮✮✮✮✮

I don’t mean to sit. I mean to walk through the room, drop a little “not talking today, bye” on her, and go curl up in a miserable ball in my room. There’s enough bedding in there for a massive nest in the closet, and I’ve already got some snacks and water in there anyway. 

But instead as I come into the room I forget and sit down like normal. Curl up in the chair, side into the back of it, knees up. 

 

Then I sit. I don’t even care about Maria because since this morning all I’ve been able to think about are the nightmares that shredded my brain all night. Killing Steve. Killing everyone. Being put into cryo but still being awake. It’s like my brain decided that since things haven’t been disastrous, it was time to fuck shit up. 

Yeah, fuck you, brain. 

 

Fuck you, Hydra. 

 

 

✰✰✰✰✰✰

 

Steve is lying in his bed, letting himself sink into the mattress. He’s not ready to go to sleep yet, not nearly tired enough since he doesn’t exactly need a normal amount of sleep. Not unless he’s been fighting all day. 

But he likes to meditate, likes to think about his day. He’d gotten into the habit with Viola, because it just made sense to go to bed at the same time she did; even if they hadn’t already been in bed having sex, this way they could cuddle and unwind together. Steve has come to like this time now, time when everything is still and quiet. He can calm his mind, let all of the things that happened during the day flow into his consciousness and then away. 

He misses Viola. This would be so much easier if he were wrapped around her soft, warm body. At the same time, he’s glad...not that she’s gone, but that he has time to know for sure that he’s okay on his own. She was so instrumental in Steve’s changes, in bringing Steve back to life, that he’s harbored the slightest fear that without her, it will all crumble apart. 

Now he misses her… but he also knows that’s not true. 

Steve hears rustling at his door, startling him from his reverie. Steve sits up in one quick motion, shaking himself into the present. 

“Um… Bucky? Come in...?” Even though he wasn’t asleep, his voice sounds sleep-rough.

Bucky gently pushes the door about half of the way open. He doesn’t enter the room though, just stands leaning against the door frame. He’s hunched in on himself, eyes down to the ground. He’s in pajama pants and a hoodie, hands tucked into the front pocket, fidgeting together. 

Steve desperately wants to wrap Bucky in his arms. He’s sure that if he stood up right now and tried to do that, Bucky would shrink away from him. All the same, his body practically itches with the need to comfort his friend. 

Steve mulls through what he should say. It takes a beat. 

“You alright?” He says. Brilliant. 

Bucky shrugs, obviously not able to name his needs. Of course, he’s here at Steve’s door for a reason, so Steve knows this isn’t the end of the conversation.

He lets a good minute pass. 

“Do you wanna come in?”

Bucky nods, and takes a step or two into Steve’s room. Steve scooches back on the bed, flopping the covers open in invitation to Bucky, but doesn’t say anything. He relaxes back onto the bed, making sure that Bucky can still see his face. 

 

Bucky has his hair pushed into his face, and he takes a few more steps into the room. Steve tries to radiate nonchalance, but really he feels like he’s trying to catch a wild animal. Bucky’s twitchy movements and hesitant steps certainly radiate the “wild animal” vibe. A few minutes later, Bucky’s curled up on the very edge of Steve’s bed. 

Steve’s heart is filled with love for his friend. He has this desire to keep Bucky warm and safe and happy, and having Bucky come to him for comfort makes him feel like he’s doing something good. 

He settles more deeply into the bed, casually letting one hand drift more into the middle of the bed, offering as unobtrusively as possible. He wants to do more, but knows that anything else would be pushing Bucky too hard. Still, having Bucky here, in his bed, if tentative and obviously hurt, is a fantastic feeling. 

In the end Steve falls asleep easily and quickly.

 

And in the morning, he rouses to find Bucky’s awake, still in bed, still separate from Steve on the large bed but closer. His dark lashed eyes are open, and he’s watching Steve with a calm (dare he say rested?) expression on his face. 

 

It feels like a fantastic victory. Steve makes pancakes to celebrate. 

 

✮✮✮✮✮✮✮

 

I’m so upset I can’t sit still. I feel like I can’t breathe even though I know that I can, and it’s not a full on panic attack, I know enough to know that they look a lot like Steve’s asthma attacks when he was smaller. 

It’s more that I can’t relax. I can’t relax my muscles, I can’t relax my diaphragm enough to get a good breath of air, I can’t sit the fuck down, I can’t even get out why the fuck I’m so fucking upset. I know Maria’s looking at me like I’m crazy, or like she’s worried for me or whatever, but I just cannot get it out. I don’t know what will happen if I do. Even looking at her face just makes me want to cry. 

 

Fuck. Fuck. FUUUUUUUUUUCK. 

Everything was fine earlier. That feels okay so I say it to Maria. She’s waiting so patiently, but everything in my chest feels wrong and I’m too wrong to get it out. 

 

I pace violently back and forth for a few more minutes. Or like twenty. But eventually I realize I’m probably scaring the shit out of Maria and I really don’t wanna do that. I might not love therapy but she’s a pretty decent lady and I don’t really want to terrify her into never coming back. So I force myself to sit. 

 

It makes everything ten thousand times worse. I hurt so much, I’m feeling too much, this is too much, I can’t handle it. 

I’m pretty sure I’m saying all of this out loud. What the fuck is wrong with me? I can’t even feel feelings without overloading and I’m most of the way to hyperventilating now so I try to force myself to breathe, just breathe but it doesn’t work. My chest just feels so heavy, so tight, and I wonder was this what it was like, before, for Steve? 

 

I come back to myself but I didn’t even realize I wasn’t present. Here I am, though, cheeks wet like I’ve been crying but I don’t remember, and my eyes are puffy, and my muscles feel tense so I must have been sitting like that, all curled in on myself, for a while. Everything feels fuzzy and blurred around the edges. I look up and around sharply, trying to orient myself, and it makes me jump a little bit to see Maria there, sitting across from me. Shit. Yeah. She’s still there. She smiles at me, and I definitely wonder how long we’ve been here for, me totally out of it, locked in my mind like a freak. 

 

Maria stretches, smiles more deeply, making eye contact. She projects calm. 

“Bucky, I’d like you to take a moment, have some water, take some deep breaths.”

I nod, heading over to the kitchen and filling a cup with tap water. I drink it down quickly, not realizing how thirsty I am, and fill it again to bring back to Maria. 

 

I settle. I try to breathe deep but my insides feel jagged and made of tissue paper. Every time I breathe I can feel just how close I am to crumbling apart. When I’ve taken five breaths as deep as I can, I look up at her quickly so she knows I’m as ready as I’m gonna be, then back down to the floor. 

“Ok. I can’t lie, I’m a worried about you, James. Would you like to tell me a little about what upset you if you can?”

The carpet is interesting, a mix of gray with green and black and light brown. I dig my feet more firmly into the floor because honestly the idea of talking about Steve and the fight and how hurt he looked, I can’t. I shake my head, letting my hair cover my face. I watch the way the darkness of the strands affects the color of the rug in my vision. 

“That’s fine.” She takes a big, loud, deep breath and I know it’s so I can do the same. So I do. 

“How about instead you tell me one thing that went well today?”

Well, there’s…….

“Tony. Stark.” My voice is all grainy so I clear it and take a sip of water. Think. My voice wavers with every breath. 

“He’s a total asshole and I hate his guts, but today… I was down in the gym with Cat working out. I’m supposed to, for the arm…” It was nice, being there with Cat, letting him bat at my feet as I did pull ups. I look up nervously, but of course, Maria’s doing nothing more than listening attentively. 

“Anyway. Stark came down…” It was the highlight of my month. Stark had come bursting into the gym, loud and brash and fidgety, and had startled the shit out of Cat. Of course, I got mad, but Stark waved me off before I got started, walked over to where Cat had hidden under the boxing ring, and promptly got swatted on the nose for his trouble. I laughed so damn hard. 

“One thing led to another, and he was bouncing around me joking about us fighting, and we got in the ring.”

I definitely look up now, and Maria’s eyebrows are raised, her ‘this is interesting, tell me more’ expression. “Were you worried about fighting him?”

I shrug. “Now, yeah.” The tiniest pit of nervousness starts in my stomach. “But at the time I was laughing and I wasn’t worried at all.”

Now the wide smile. “That’s fantastic, Bucky,” she says in her smoothed-over eastern european accent. “I’m glad that you were able to just be in the moment, without feeling constrained by your trauma.”

I nod like I know what that means, though it makes me feel somehow better all the same. “Yeah. That. So we went a few rounds, you know, not trying to hurt, just showing each other what we got. He’s not bad…” I mean, I could have killed him a thousand different ways the second we started play-fighting, and he’s no Black Widow, but he was stronger and quicker than I’d thought, too. 

 

“Sounds like you had fun.” Maria says, spreading her hands a bit.

“Yeah.” I pause. “I mean, I still don’t like the guy but I guess I see now why everyone else does… so I guess that’s good.”

 

“Good.” She says, nodding. “What happened next?”

 

I blanch. A little lightening bolt of pain or fear or aching lonely desperation flashes in my chest. “Well, then Steve came in.”

I know she can tell that I’m upset, but she continues on the same, letting me tell my story. “Was he happy to see the two of you getting along a little better?”

 

I shrug again, not wanting to say it. “The look on his face…. it was just… betrayed.” Tears have started falling down my face again, because of all of the tortures and horrors I’ve witnessed, doing something that hurt Steve is by far the worst. 

Maria takes another long, deep breath. “I’m sorry, Bucky. It must have been hard to have something good be interpreted so negatively by someone as important to you as Steve.”

I nod, not knowing what else to do. Sit snivelling and crying for a moment, knees so far into my chest that it hurts. 

“He got so mad. He…. I could tell he was trying not to be, but Tony called for him to join us, and I just froze up…. “

 

A humming sound escapes my therapist’s mouth. “Why do you think you froze?” Her eyes bore into mine. 

Of course, I know exactly why. It’s just hard to get out. 

Breathe.

 

“I froze because I don’t trust myself to spar with Steve.” Fresh tears, or snot, or both, make their way down my face. 

“Why don’t you trust yourself?”

“Because the last time we fought, I shot him in the chest!” I scream, sobbing hysterically, barely intelligible. “I killed him! I beat him and I shot him and I let him fall a thousand feet into a chemical-filled river and he was barely breathing!” 

It crosses my mind that this is almost the exact same conversation I had with Steve about an hour ago. Steve had looked so broken… he had been hurt and angry, but the second I had blurted out why, he had flinched back, his eyes so round and earnest and shocked into silence. 

“What if I do that again? They programmed me to kill him and I fought him in the street and they wiped me again and I let it happen! I tried my hardest to kill the most important person in the world to me! Of course I don’t trust myself to fight him! What if the programming comes back? What if he realizes that I’m a monster and a danger and leaves me? What if I hurt him again? Even if the programming doesn’t come back I’m trained to kill and what if he sees that and sees how different I am? What if he doesn’t like who he sees? What if he doesn’t want me around anymore?”

I’m dizzy and hyperventilating and my heart is lead in my chest. I can’t stop crying and more than that, my mind can’t stop coming up with the worst things that might happen. 

“Bucky.” Maria’s voice is strong and shakes me out of my head. Her face is kind and her eyes gentle as she leads me through calming my breath and my thoughts. 

“Let’s talk this through one part at a time.”

 

 

✰✰✰✰✰✰✰

 

Steve and Natasha are smirking at each other as they step off the elevator onto Steve’s floor, starving after a long workout where Nat kicked Steve’s ass a thousand different ways. 

He needs this. He needs to laugh after this past week. After what had happened in the gym, it had taken three days for either Steve or Bucky to be distanced from their emotions enough to look at the other one. Then Bucky had invited Steve to his therapy session.

Steve can’t stop thinking about the way that he had blurted out, in response to Bucky expressing his guilt about what had happened on the helicarrier, “God, Bucky, no. I’d rather die than you have gone back to Hydra. I’d rather you have killed me than live and know you were suffering with them.”

He had been one hundred percent truthful, but still the look on Bucky’s face told him it hadn’t helped. Telling the truth and letting their feelings out apparently was just making the both of them hurt more. 

That woman that Pepper had recommended was fantastic, Steve can admit to that. By the end of their time that day, Steve had come to peace with what happened in the gym and wasn’t hurt by it any more. That didn’t make him feel any less like he had been turned inside out, though. The past three days had felt too raw, like a layer of skin had been removed, and Steve and Bucky had both danced around each other, not sure how to act anymore. Steve desperately wanted to have things go back to the way they had been. 

Alternately, Steve desperately wanted to pull Bucky into a hug. But that whole train of thought is tainted by the fact that Steve still hasn’t told Bucky that he’s gay. He felt wrong jerking off next to Bucky without letting Bucky know, and it feels equally wrong to try to touch Bucky intimately when his friend is oblivious to the potential implications. 

Steve knows he’s lying to himself a little bit. He knows that if it were just that he liked men, it wouldn’t really be a big deal. He knows that he would have told Bucky already. The problem is that he likes Bucky, and in avoiding telling his friend about his sexuality, he’s avoiding the inevitable question Bucky will ask. Jokingly or not, Steve isn’t ready to truthfully answer his friend if Bucky asks him who he’s attracted to, or if he thinks Bucky’s hot, or any number of questions that will make it immediately obvious how fucking gone he is on him. 

 

“Earth to Steve!” He feels a pinch in his side right where he’s most ticklish. He shakes himself, turning to Natasha with an automatic smile while he mentally reorients himself. 

“What, were you saying something?” He jokes. She just elbows him as they move in unison to open the fridge and start pulling food out. 

 

Midway through Steve mixing a dozen eggs for an omelette while Natasha cuts up veggies and the biscuits are cooling, Bucky makes his way into the kitchen on silent feet. Steve can feel Nat tense next to him, and he sighs mentally. 

“You hungry, Buck? We’re planning a breakfast feast so we’ve got plenty for you.” 

He knows he’s being unkind to Natasha, pushing her buttons, but honestly he just can’t understand why she’s so antagonistic towards Bucky. 

He turns towards his dark-haired friend, trying to show him that he’s wanted. 

Bucky shrugs slightly, dark eyes downcast. “I was gonna go run on a treadmill for a bit… maybe when I come back.” He says in his quiet, gravelly tone. 

Steve will not feel hurt. He won’t. He flashes Bucky a smile, cheerily spouting off some platitude and quickly turning back to his egg whisking. 

 

When the elevator’s closed and moved away from their floor, Steve turns to Natasha. 

“This has to stop, Nat.” He sighs, gesticulating with his whisk. “You’ve been against Bucky since the second I found him and I just don’t understand it!” He looks at her, pleading earnestly with his eyes. “Why? You helped me more than anyone when I was trying to find him.”

 

Natasha stares at him perfectly blankly. It reminds him too much of the beginning of their time at SHIELD, when she was a cover instead of a person. The silence stretches between them, but Steve won’t back down. He’s left this far too long as it is. 

Eventually Natasha gives in. She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms, affecting annoyance. Steve knows better… he just crooks an eyebrow at her. 

“I don’t know that man. That’s not the Winter Soldier, and I don’t know who he is. He’s unstable and I don’t trust him. What am I supposed to do with a dangerous, shell-shocked unrevealing man living with my best friend?”

 

Steve’s taken aback by the direction of her thoughts and the care they show for him. He actually takes a step backwards, trying to re-organize his thoughts around this new idea. Eventually he fondly shakes his head at her, placing his bowl on the counter and pulling her towards him to wrap in his arms. She’s not the most cuddly person, but he knows she won’t beat him up over it so he takes advantage. 

“I didn’t think about how that might be for you. You’re a good friend. A fantastic friend, and I’m lucky to have you. But you trust me, right?” He says into her hair. 

Natasha shrugs in his arms, a muffled “you know I do” sounding from his chest. 

“I trust you too. And now I need you to trust me to know that I’m doing the right thing.”

Natasha pulls back, and her lips turn up in a wry smile. “That part’s a little bit harder.”

Steve nods in agreement, smiling. “You betcha. I’m still gonna hold you to it, though.”

She rolls her eyes again, elbowing him as she moves away from him and back to the cooking. “Okay, old man. Let’s get some food on the table before your body starts eating itself.”

 

 

This is why they’re still at the table when Bucky comes back, sweaty, from his run in the gym. 

Steve lights up. “Bucky! Hey, come join us. There’s plenty of food.” Maybe that was a tad too enthusiastic. The faces on his two friends confirm that theory. Bucky’s eyes dart to Natasha, and she visibly shrugs. Steve supposes that’s the best he’s gonna get from her. 

Bucky points down the hall. “Yeah, I should shower though…”

“Later!” Steve cuts him off. He’s determined to get these two to get along, especially now that he knows the reasons behind it. “The food’s still warm, it’d be a shame to waste it.” He employs his most pleading expression. 

Victory! Bucky silently takes a seat, and Steve quickly starts handing over dishes so he can serve himself. Steve goes back to his own half-finished plate. To silence. Awkward silence. Steve chews a mouthful of food, looking from Natasha to Bucky. Both are hunched over their plates, focused downward. 

 

Well. If they’re not going to talk, Steve is going to make this a memorable meal. 

“Since you’re both here, I might as well tell you both at once. I’m gay.”

A fork clatters to the table and Natasha coughs a little. Steve’d be proud of his delivery if he weren’t as red as a tomato. 

“Well… queer, I guess is a good term. Definitely not straight. I haven’t figured out exactly what. But, um. I wanted you both to know.”

 

Natasha seems like the safer bet right now to look at. She stares back at him, and he finally gets that expression about a ‘conversation with your eyes.’

Natasha’s eyes are saying ‘I could have set you up with so many more people, Steve.’

Steve tries as hard as possible to respond back ‘That’s great, Nat, but I definitely don’t need you to do that anymore please god don’t try to set me up with anyone else.’

Natasha smirks, and Steve feels like he’s lost that battle in advance. His eyes go to Bucky, at once desperate to know what he thinks and terrified of a bad reaction. He knows that Bucky knows about sexual orientations, but knowing about them and having someone you’ve jerked off next to pretty recently reveal something like that are two separate things. 

Bucky doesn’t look shocked though. Or worried, or disgusted. He just looks at Steve, beautiful blue eyes staring right at him, and smiles softly. 

So the world is a pretty good place, today. 

 

“Hey. I thought Clint was your best friend?”

✮✮✮✮✮✮

 

I’m lying in my closet in my blanket fort cuddling with a sleepy and cute Cat. It’s past time to do this. 

“JARVIS.”

“Yes, sir?” The friendly British voice comes down quietly from the ceiling.

“I think I need to learn more about gay sex.”


	20. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh lord I'm sick AF but I'm so happy to get this chapter out.
> 
> It's almost double the normal length.. hope that's a good thing! Lots of smut. :D
> 
> Thank you SO much for reading and commenting and the kudos. 
> 
> Also: there's a reference in here to a fantastic webcomic, ohjoysextoy.... I'm curious to see if anyone spots it. 
> 
> Hope you like it!

Bucky starts making more frequent appearances in Steve’s bedroom. Once or twice a week Steve will wake to dark hair and clever hands wrapped around fluffy cat fur, and he’ll sleepily move to the side, pulling back the covers for his friend. 

 

One morning as the weather starts really getting nice he wakes to find Bucky still in bed next to him, staring up at the ceiling. Steve’s warm and cozy, feeling well rested. As he wakes, though, continuing to smile stupidly at his friend, he realizes that Bucky’s not looking quite so warm and fuzzy. His kaleidoscope blue eyes are darting back and forth, and he’s fidgeting beneath the blankets.

“Morning.” Steve croaks out in a sleep-thick voice. “How’d you sleep?”

Bucky doesn’t answer for a second. He takes a long breath in, then pushes it out sharply, tensing as if bracing himself for something. Then he turns abruptly to face Steve. “I’m horny as fuck. You wanna jerk off together?”

 

Steve’s totally stunned. In his defense, he’s been awake for all of thirty seconds. More to the point, they’ve done it a few times in the weeks that they’ve been at the tower, but not since little more than a week ago, when Steve had come out to Bucky and Nat. 

The fact that Bucky still wants to mastubate with him…. it’s staggering to Steve. He feels like his chest is on fire, like his heart’s going to lift right out of his ribcage. It’s a step closer to where Steve simultaneously wants to be and knows isn’t right: Bucky and Steve. Steve and Bucky, together. Steve isn’t quite sure what this means, but it has to be something good, and he’s got bigger things on his mind at the moment, like how instantly hard he is just hearing Bucky’s request.

Steve grins happily at Bucky, then realizes he’s definitely coming on too strong, and croaks out “sure” and turns onto his back, still basking in excitement. His hand can’t help but slide down under the covers to press his erection, stroking softly through his sleep pants. This is probably too enthusiastic. He’s never been good at playing it cool. 

Of course, out of the corner of his eye he sees Bucky shuffle onto his back as well, somehow seeming a thousand times nearer than he was in sleep. Bucky’s eyes close and he breathes out a sigh, already decidedly less tense than two minutes before. Steve regrets the fact that they’re both still covered with blankets, mourning the lack of visual…. Still, just the sight of Bucky’s dark hair on the white pillows next to him, his body close enough to feel its heat, maybe it’s better this way so he doesn’t embarrass himself. He’s so fucking turned on just knowing that this is happening. 

As they both start moving, Steve closes his eyes, focusing on his other senses. He can hear Bucky’s breath stutter. He can smell warm skin and bar soap. He feels the mattress shudder from Bucky’s feet moving on it, toes curling and shifting to try to get the most of his pleasure. 

He’s getting worked up quickly, and honestly he can’t help but focus more intensely. What will Bucky sound like as he gets close? Will he make the slightest noise as he comes, or stay silent? Will he sigh as his orgasm runs through his body? 

Steve’s close already, and he sneaks a peek at Bucky, watching his arm move languidly underneath the covers. Steve lets out the lightest groan, barely more than a sigh, arousal running up and down his spine. To his surprise, a sigh echoes from Bucky. Fuck. 

Steve’s hand stutters in its stroke, needing a moment to process the sound and its origin. It picks back up at a renewed pace, and Steve can’t help but utter another groan, this one just a little more enthusiastic. 

A second later, Steve listening avidly, he hears another quiet sound escape his friend. Steve can’t help but be overcome with this… evidence... of Bucky enjoying himself. He can feel his orgasm building in his spine, and can’t bring himself to slow down or hold it off. His heels dig into the mattress and his shoulders curl inwards as heat floods his body, starting in his stomach and radiating out from there. He chokes back a shout as he comes, shaking and flooded with pleasure. 

As his hand slows and he comes back to himself, he’s aware of two things: one is the come cooling quickly on his pajama pants and hand. The other is the tiny vocalisations coming from Bucky. He’s obviously about to reach his own orgasm, and Steve surreptitiously tilts his head enough to see his beautiful face, the dark lashes, lips pressed firmly together, brow furrowed. As he comes, he gasps once and it’s the most beautiful thing in the world. Though he’d been soft a second ago, Steve’s hard again just watching. 

After a moment, he lets out a sigh and starts to get up, heading to the shower. At this very second, Steve wishes more than anything to talk to Viola. 

 

✮✮✮✮✮✮✮

 

Tony Stark is obviously crazy. I have no problem telling him this out loud to his face. 

“Hey, it’s no lie! JARVIS, tell the scary man that I’m not lying,” Tony babbles at his usual high speed. 

“Indeed,” comes the cultured voice from the ceiling. I’ve grown to know it is trustworthy in some respects. “Mr Barnes, you have gained approximately twenty five pounds since you moved into the tower. By my calculations, you will be ready for Mr. Stark’s second prototype in ten days.”

I still don’t really believe it. Have I changed that much? It doesn’t feel like it. “I thought that I had lost fifty pounds. I think your robot has a problem with math.”

Tony just waves me off, absentmindedly soldering some connections on a miscellaneous Iron Man gauntlet thing as he talks, “Aw, pal, you’re the biggest tease, I know you know JARVIS is an A.I.” He waves the soldering iron in circles, and I worry for his safety. After the first arm installation, our few checkups have happened by scan, never forcing me to be close to the billionaire. Thankfully. 

“Anyway, you might have lost fifty pounds of weight, but I’m a genius and the best most amazing prosthetic maker who ever did live, so according to my specs, my arm’s gonna weigh like half of what that old, clunky thing did. You don’t need crazy Steve levels of muscle just to be able to tote the new one around... more like Sexy Tony Stark levels of muscle,” he illustrates with a game-show-like gesture to his own chest and arms. 

I’m sure I look skeptical, which I am, because that arm was the most advanced thing to ever exist in prosthetics and I’m having a hard time believing that Stark has improved upon it, much as I’d like to leave it in the dust. Fuck Hydra. 

“JARVIS, pull up the blueprints for Icicle Arm mark 1, will you please?” A holographic screen appears before me, and Tony actually drops the fifty things he’s fiddling with to stand at my side (a little too close for comfort, but I make a valiant effort to ignore him) and explain. 

“There are some things that we want to keep, because as much as I hate to admit it, I can’t really improve upon them. But there’s plenty that we can customize, and I’ve got created a few alloys that are stronger and lighter. Also, the weight gain estimate is for a plain arm, so if you want lasers or guns or rocket launchers you’ll have to do more work ‘cause I can’t fit all that in there without the weight going up a bunch. But I don’t trust you in my building with my Pepper with a rocket launcher just yet, you’ll have to earn that with…” he hummed to himself facetiously, “...at least four more months of not going on a crazy killing spree, rampage, whatever. Well, we can upgrade to guns and lasers maybe, and then I think another few months after that before we work up to the big stuff. Whaddya say, big guy? You want the arm to match your loverboy’s shield? I can do that. Let’s talk paint job, that won’t weigh this baby down at all.”

 

I can’t fucking deal with Stark like this, I’m gonna need to go curl into my next with Cat for the rest of the day just to get myself back to baseline. I find myself desperately wishing Steve were here to help, though of course as always I’ve refused his invitations to accompany me. He doesn’t need any encouragement in thinking that I need a keeper; he’s enough of a mother hen without knowing how much this takes out of me. 

Just another reason I want a real arm; I need Steve to see that I’m okay. I need to be okay for Steve. 

Because I know he’ll never be with me until that happens, and he’ll never realize it on his own. 

Stark starts to babble, but JARVIS interrupts him with a soft “I’m sorry, sir, but I do believe that Captain Rogers is looking for Mr. Barnes.”

Stark waves me off, already turning back to other work, and I practically run into the elevator.

“Forgive me for the lie. I felt that you would appreciate some time to yourself, and propose that we discuss options for your arm later today or tomorrow.” The robotic voice is soothing. 

I slump against the elevator wall, infinitely relieved. “So, Steve’s not really looking for me?”

“I’m afraid not, sir.”

“JARVIS, you’re the fucking best.”

 

✰✰✰✰✰✰

 

Steve is down in the gym, working idly at a heavy bag, too amped up to stop yet but not fully invested, when Bucky comes down. 

 

He wipes sweat off his forehead with the back of one hand, flashing a smile at his friend. 

“Hey Buck.”

Bucky’s long hair bobs around his face when he nods in greeting, eyes flitting around the room. 

 

Steve waits. He can tell Bucky’s come down for a reason, and he rests on a mat on the ground, idly drinking water and stretching, waiting for his friend. 

 

He’s almost done with his stretch when Bucky finally speaks up.

“Stark says I’m almost ready for the real arm.”

Steve’s head snaps up. “Really? Wow.” He lets that sink in. “Wow. That’s amazing, Buck!”

Bucky nods. “Yeah. I’m not back to… where I was…” they both wince slightly, not knowing how to characterize Bucky’s Winter Soldier physique. “But he says the more I want in my arm, the more muscle I need to build.”

Steve nods. He can instantly imagine all of the toys and gadgets Tony would love the challenge of cramming into an anatomically accurate arm. “Makes sense, especially knowing Tony.” 

Bucky snorts. 

Steve hesitates for a moment. “So… what do you want in your arm?”

Bucky shrugs, looking to the side. It’s obviously been on his mind if he’s coming to Steve about it. 

“Dunno...” his quiet voice ghosts across the room, “I have… lots of thoughts about it.” Steve motions him to go on. “I mean, it doesn’t seem like I need anything right now, at all. And then I don’t know if I trust myself, but that doesn’t matter because a metal arm is enough of a weapon… and honestly,” he flashes a smile up at Steve, brilliant blue eyes making contact for just a moment, “I’m guessing that somewhere down the line you’ll need someone to watch your back.”

Steve can’t help but laugh. He nods, looking down. “That all makes a ton of sense. The only thing I disagree with is that I trust you. I know I can.” He says this with as much conviction as he can muster, almost speech-worthy. And maybe it’s worth a speech, but Bucky interrupts before it can get there. 

“Yeah.” He rolls his eyes. “The guy with self-destructive tendencies and a blind spot for his best friend trusts the killer. That’s a rousing endorsement.” The quirk of his lips echoes from a long, long time ago.

 

Steve kicks a yoga ball at Bucky. It’s quickly deflected, but it makes the both of them laugh. Steve can tell Bucky has more to say.

 

“Was thinking maybe you’d like to help me. Help get me in shape again. I mean, I’m not gonna spar with you... but…”

Steve nods so hard he thinks he hears his teeth clack together. “I’ve got you, Buck. I know exactly what we can do. There’s plenty besides sparring. Maybe we can even get Natasha to help.” His mind is already off and running. 

Bucky makes a face, but Steve can tell it’s good-natured. “Okay. Well, time to impress me with your skills. God knows you didn’t get those muscles the hard way.”

 

 

The next few weeks are both the best and worst that have come yet with Bucky. 

 

Steve and Bucky spend far more time together now than they did before. Partly it’s because Bucky now accompanies Steve to the gym, and now the rhythm of their days falls in line. 

Steve wakes, either to an already alert Bucky lying in bed next to him or to one waiting in the living room. They run together, taking new routes every day, sometimes through Central Park, sometimes through alleys and streets. Sometimes Steve even gets Bucky to do some freerunning, all under the guise of competition, something Bucky’s never been able to resist. They’re both famished by the end, so it makes sense for them to eat together. Then Bucky showers and goes off to Maria, and Steve cleans up. By the time Bucky’s back, they head down to the gym, sometimes with Natasha, sometimes with Tony, sometimes by themselves. At night they watch movies while they have dinner, which they did before… but it feels like more, now. 

Bucky still ducks out occasionally to his closet nest. He still comes back occasionally from Maria needing to cuddle for an hour with Cat before he’s ready to do anything else. 

All the same, Steve feels like it’s more. There’s just more joking, more time, more closeness. 

 

On the other hand, it’s pretty torturous spending time with Bucky. The first time he took his baggy sweatshirt off in the gym, Steve almost walked into a treadmill. 

Bucky’s body has changed since he came back, and Steve’s used to worrying about getting more food into him, still expecting to see protuberant ribs and thin limbs. 

Instead Bucky’s body is a more toned version of what it was back in 1942, and Steve has a newfound appreciation for the lines of muscle that he can see through the tight workout shirt he loaned to his friend. 

Steve starts sketching more frequently. Since they moved into the tower he hasn’t been motivated… Viola had been the muse for Steve’s art, and he’s not been wanting to draw without her. Now, though, he feels a desperate compulsion to get Bucky down on paper. And in doing so, he’s really documenting Bucky’s change. Whatever serum Hydra had given him, or whatever had happened since, has meant that every moment spent building muscle has ten times the effect it would on a normal person. 

So in drawing Bucky as he lies curled around the cat on the floor of the living room, or laughing as he leaps over a trash bin on the street corner, Steve can see the effects of the work they’re doing. At the start of his new sketchbook the muscles are slight, beautiful but still subtle. As the weeks pass, however, Bucky’s body becomes almost an obsession for Steve. He can’t stop looking, and his appreciation is not all artistic. 

Steve’s realization that he’s attracted to men has come with the realization that he always was attracted to Bucky (not to mention some inadvertent flirting with Sam. He spent a few moments with his head in his hands when he realized how oblivious he had been). Honestly, Steve’s attracted to Bucky inside and out. It’s his startling gray-blue eyes, the way his hand runs through his hair. It’s his softness with Cat, his full lips, the way he looks when he throws back his head and laughs. 

Touching Bucky has an added danger to it now, when it means so much to Steve. Helping him stretch, snuggling on the couch, it all means something different. It’s killing Steve, because Bucky’s no different at all. If anything, Bucky’s been asking for more touch, with more frequency. He certainly hasn’t reacted negatively to Steve’s admission that he’s attracted to men. So what does that mean for Steve? He’s so confused. If Bucky had been put off by it, it would have been predictable and unsurprising. The fact that he’s not… does it mean Bucky is queer too? Does it mean that Bucky wants him, or that Bucky’s confident that Steve isn’t attracted to his oldest friend? He’s driving himself in circles with wondering.

He can’t stop himself, though. The idea of fucking this up is so painful that he can’t really think about it for long. He’s lost and found Bucky too many times to mess it up now just because of his stupid dick. No matter how much he wants Bucky, he’s not going to risk something so important. He’ll just have to keep his attraction to himself. 

 

✮✮✮✮✮✮✮

 

This is the first time all week I’ve seen Maria. 

 

Partly it’s because I’ve gotten busier lately, and I just haven’t felt as much like I needed to check in every day. Some days I’ve even made it through the whole day without hating myself and needing to retreat. 

Partly, I think it’s actually because I need to talk to her less. Or… the stuff that we’re getting through now feels less enormous, less urgent, less like I need to check in that day about what we talked about the day before. 

So I’m catching her up on what I’ve been up to, feeling pretty good about everything that I’m telling her. 

 

Honestly, I should have known. If there’s one thing I’ve figured out about therapy, it’s that things being easy never gets you anywhere. 

 

So of course Maria gets that look on her face, like she’s got something to say. I motion her on with a nod of my head. 

 

“So why do you think it is that you can fight with Tony and with Natasha, but not Steve?”

 

I groan, and bury my head in my knees. 

“Do we have to talk about this?” I whine.

I purposely don’t look at her face. I know what I’ll see there. Still, I hear her shifting, and can see her lofty expression in my mind as she says “Of course not, Bucky. We don’t have to talk about anything if you don’t want to.”

 

Ugh. I know what comes next, so I might as well get there on my own. 

 

“I still don’t trust myself with Steve. With Tony, I know JARVIS is watching, and if I lose it he’ll have a suit on before I can do too much damage… hopefully,” I grit out, yanking my hand through my hair.

“Natasha won’t take any chances. I know she wouldn’t hesitate to do anything to stop me, even if it means putting a bullet in my head.”

Maria raises an eyebrow at that, but doesn’t stop me.

“But Steve?” I lean back, looking to the ceiling for inspiration. “Steve’s a self sacrificing idiot. I know that if I went off the rails again, he’d lie right down in front of me and let me kill him!” I’m practically shouting by the end, so frustrated. “He’d let me kill him, for fuck’s sake! What am I supposed to do with that? Huh? Because it doesn’t feel like trust, it feels like a curse.”

I try to calm myself down, work through my breathing exercises. 

“I have this nightmare in my head where I wake up, become myself again after Hydra’s fucked with me, and realizing that I’ve killed Steve.” I sigh bitterly. “I just pray that somebody’d put me out of my misery if that ever happens.”

A moment passes by in silence. I sit heavily with that thought. 

 

Maria shifts to show me she’s ready to respond. She’s wearing a delicate lace scarf today, the pink thing somehow making her look softer and more vulnerable. 

“Well, that was melodramatic.” 

Or not. I roll my eyes. 

 

“Bucky. Answer this for me: how long did it take Hydra to create the Winter Soldier?”

 

I shake my head, shrug. “Years. Years of torture.”

 

“Years of torture.” She nods. “And how long were you under their control?”

I roll my eyes this time. I know she knows this, which means that she’s making a point, as if she were a lawyer cross-examining a witness. 

“Seventy years.”

 

“Seventy years.” She hums. “And still, when you saw Steve, you broke through your programming and saved his life?”

“After shooting him!”

“You saved his life?” She presses, more tenacious than ever. 

“Yes. Fine,” I grit out from between my teeth, almost on the verge of tears. “Doesn’t matter.”

“My dear boy, that’s the most important thing in the world. Why ever would it not matter?”

By now there are tears standing on the edge of my eyes, eyelashes holding them back until I blink. “Because. I hurt Steve,” I whisper, finally letting myself blink and the tears spill down my face. 

 

Maria watches me for a moment, bearing witness but otherwise letting me be. I let the tears go, sit and my heart heavy and my stomach feeling like it’s been perforated with buckshot. There’s a flash of thought through my mind something along the lines of ‘Christ I wish I could feel nothing. Anything but feeling this.’ But I know it’s not true. I have seventy years worth of proof that feeling nothing is not, in fact, better. 

I sigh. Look up at Maria, ready for more pain.

 

“James, I’m going to tell you something that you’re not going to like, but I think you’re ready to hear,” she says, eyes shining with care and truth and compassion. If she had said something like this when I was first starting with her, I’d have rolled my eyes. Now, though, I know she means it. I nod for her to go on. 

 

Maria’s the one to sigh this time. “I don’t want to say this too bluntly...” she starts, thoughtful. “Or maybe I do. You don’t need to worry about losing it with Steve, you need to worry about Hydra coming back.”

 

I snap to attention, icy fear running down my spine. Is she… could she be? After all this time?

“Let me explain,” she calmly goes on as if she hasn’t just said the most terrifying sentence I’ve ever heard since that bastard Zola told me that Steve was dead. 

“You yourself, James Buchanan Barnes, would never hurt Steve Rogers, your best friend.” I want to protest, say but I already did, but I’m too scared. “It was HYDRA who created the Winter Soldier. It was HYDRA that ordered you to kill him. It was they that you fought, they that tortured you into compliance. And yet still they failed. Still, even after everything, they failed because of your love for Steve.”

The fear has melted, and in its place is tentative curiosity. Hope. 

“So, Bucky, you’ll never have to worry about hurting Steve. You might punch him too hard,” she smiles, “but you’ll never snap and turn into the Winter Soldier again. Or,” she paused, thoughtfully, “you’ll never snap and become Hydra’s puppet just because you’re fighting Steve. The name is irrelevant. The important thing is this… are you listening to me?” She stares into my eyes with a fierceness. 

I can’t do much but stare back. I so badly need to hear this. I’m practically frozen, hands clutching my thighs, desperate for her to finish. 

“You need to worry about Hydra coming back because it’s the only thing that will turn you into someone who will hurt Steve. Do you understand me? You will not hurt Steve. Hydra might. Lucky for you, he’s better at fighting back than most.” I huff out a snort, and she grins. “So fight with Steve. Get mad, punch him, win the fight, make mistakes. It’s not going to bring the monster back.”

 

I want so badly to believe it. I do. I want to believe that it’s that simple, but it’s hard to let go. I’ve done so much work with Maria to accept what they did to me, to accept that it isn’t my fault. It’s hard to understand, but I’m getting better all the time. This, though… it’s almost too big to let go of.

Honestly, I don’t have anything I can think to say to that, so I look up at Maria and smile a watery smile. 

 

“Hey,” she smiles, “if you start rolling around on the floor with Steve maybe he’ll finally get a clue. He’s oblivious enough to everything else.”

 

 

✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰

 

 

Things are probably the best they’ve been ever, and Steve desperately wishes Viola was here to celebrate with him. 

Well, Steve’s so sexually frustrated he’s been jerking off two or three times a day, but he’ll take it any day because it means things are back to normal with Bucky. And who the fuck even knows what normal is anymore, but things are more. They’re better. 

 

It started with Bucky jokingly, as if it hadn’t been the sorest spot between them, challenging Steve to a sparring match. His eyes had been so light, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet on the mat, and Steve had wanted to cry tears of joy. 

Until Bucky landed a punch with his left. Then he’d realized that he needed to get his head in the game. 

Either way, an hour later they were both exhausted, grinning like idiots and aiming badly as they squirted water in each others’ mouths. 

Since then they’d started touching more and more, and sparring in the gym turned into Bucky jumping on Steve’s back halfway through their run, turned into wrestling on the living room floor. 

 

Best thing ever, and Steve has gotten fantastic at the terrible art of boner hiding. 

 

Then Bucky had gotten his arm- his real, non-skeleton arm. 

That actually had made Steve cry. 

 

Seeing the look on Bucky’s face when Tony had unveiled the thing was pretty amazing, but it was the conversation that took place while Bucky’s shoulder socket was being cleaned by nanites or whatever that really did it. 

It was a long time coming. Bucky had been so damn stiff when he sat down, and Tony had been his usual insensitive self. Surprisingly, though, Bucky had brought up the subject of what had happened between them almost a year ago. It hadn’t exactly been tactful. 

Steve had been hovering protectively, and Tony had been babbling on, but when he went to reach over to touch Bucky, the other man had flinched. 

“What, don’t trust me?” Tony had joked, and Steve had frozen like an idiot, entirely uncomfortable with the idea of being present for this confrontation. 

“Yeah. That’ll happen when you remove somebody’s prosthesis without consent,” Bucky had said acerbically. 

Poor Tony. He had stiffened, eyes widening, mouth dropping open. 

Bucky snorted. “What, didn’t think I’d still be pissed?” he’d said, itching for a fight. 

Tony, though, had blindly flopped backwards onto his work stool, thousand yard stare in his eyes. That had snapped Bucky out of his snit enough for him to listen, and Tony had shakingly told them both the story of how he got his arc reactor… and how it had been taken away. 

 

The apologies had been stilted and awkward, and it had taken a while for them to get back on track. The arm went on, and Bucky spent an ecstatic week showing it off in every way possible. Bucky’s new arm was still articulated, still a series of overlapping plates. Except for the hand- it had larger plates for the finger joints, a slightly different design in the palm. It was silent as he moved it, but made noises as things shifted around inside when Bucky had to use more strength or activate one of the special features. Steve wasn’t sure what it could do, because both Tony and Bucky were weirdly silent on the matter. Steve didn’t mind so much since it meant the two were finding some common ground. 

Then Tony had started in with ridiculously over-the-top apology gifts, and Bucky had stormed up to the penthouse to tell him off, and Steve had a feeling that that was going to be how the two of them were from now on… superficially antagonistic, but with good intentions in their hearts. 

 

 

 

“Hey.”

Steve looks up from where he’s lounging on the couch, back propped up against the arm, totally not drawing Bucky shirtless. Bucky’s been going shirtless a lot more lately and it’s killing Steve but he’s fine, this is the best things have been in forever and he can take a little (a lot of) sexual frustration. 

He looks up and smiles, smoothly moving the sketchpad to the side and closing it. “Hey. You’re done fast.”

Bucky shrugs, running his shiny hand through his hair. It’s gotten long, making contact with his shoulders. Steve wants to run his fingers through it as well. “Not much to say recently.”

“Huh?” Oh, right. “Oh. Yeah.” Bucky pushes Steve’s feet off of the couch and flops down across from him, leaning against the opposite arm. “That’s a good thing, right?”

Bucky laughs. “Yeah, it’s a good thing. Besides the bad days,” they grimace in unison, “there’s only really one thing that we still talk about.”

Would it be too obvious to try to cuddle tonight? Maybe JARVIS can turn the air conditioning up a little for an excuse. “Oh. What do you talk about?”

It occurs to him a moment too late that that’s not exactly a great thing to ask. Fuck, he’s got to get his head on straight. 

“Mostly we talk about you.”

“What?”

 

Steve’s heart is beating really loudly. His ears are buzzing a little, and he feels hot. Frantic, hopeful arousal curls in his stomach, hot and tickling. 

“Wait. What? You talk about me?”

 

Bucky’s suddenly very close. He’s smiling, staring Steve right in the eyes. So close Steve can smell the scent of their soap, his sweat, his skin. 

“Yeah. We talk about you. And what I’m gonna do about you.”

Steve imagines this is what being drunk feels like. He’s almost in a trance, disbelieving that this could be reality. 

“What are you gonna do about me?”

For a moment there’s a line of energy extending out of Steve’s chest and across the small divide to Bucky. It feels magnetic, like it’s pulling them together. Steve’s head is fuzzy.

Then the magnet grows stronger and suddenly Bucky is right there, right in front of him, warm breath ghosting over his lips, close enough to kiss. He must be hallucinating. He feels almost helpless, pressed up against the side of the couch, leaning back with Bucky leaning over him. 

“I was thinking I’m gonna kiss you.” 

Steve whimpers, unable to look away from Bucky’s face. His lips, pale pink and full, a tongue darting out to wet them, his perfect jaw covered in stubble. 

“Got any objections to that?”

Steve violently shakes his head and he’s barely done before the magnetic cord of energy between them exerts its pull once again and they are kissing, bodies and possibly planets coming into alignment. 

 

Their lips meet once, gently, and again, and Steve can’t believe how soft Bucky’s lips are. It feels at once exactly and nothing like Viola. The hot well of arousal is there, setting fire to Steve’s very bones just as it did with Viola, but the kisses? They’re like discovering a new element, voyaging into outer space. Every single thing must be catalogued and set down in memory.

 

Then a warm hand slides itself under his shirt, around his side and along the small of his back while the other cradles the back of his head and the kiss deepens and all thought flies out of the window. 

 

There is only this. There is only the heat of Bucky’s body over his, the push of their lips as they come together more and more desperately, drinking each others’ mouths, opening up to each other. There is only the instant, desperate need that has Steve arching up into Bucky’s body in little waves, their hot breath intermingling as they kiss insatiably. 

 

Steve is nothing but sensation. He is nothing but reaction. He has wanted this for so long and his heart is aching with completion but his body is electrified and his mind blissfully blank. Bucky teases his tongue over Steve’s lips and Steve’s comes out to meet it and he groans in appreciation, unable to hold back or hold anything in. 

Bucky pulls back, the two of them gasping for air, and he’s grinning down at Steve, cheeks flushed and hair falling forward over his face. He’s perfectly beautiful, and Steve has absolutely no desire to draw him. This kind of beauty demands to be touched. Steve’s fingers itch with the need to touch every inch of his body. 

 

“Alright?” Bucky pants. 

Steve doesn’t know what his face is showing but he does know he’s grinning just as madly as the man on top of him. He nods his head, then shakes it. Then pulls Bucky back in, whispering “more” between the two of them before their mouths meet again and again. 

Steve arches up into Bucky; he was hard the instant they first kissed and the friction feels glorious on his aching cock. His left hand pulls Bucky down harder to him, and the other tangles in his long, soft hair. 

They spend countless minutes entwined on the couch, unable to stop, unable to do anything more that get closer, closer to each other. Bucky kisses down Steve’s neck and bites perfectly on the sensitive spot behind his ear, and Steve has to reciprocate, nibbling lightly around the curve of Bucky’s ear and making his way down the column of his neck. This, between them, it’s not a battle but a dance, a give and take where each is urging the other on to new heights, new pleasures. 

Steve’s clutching desperately at Bucky, reduced to lust and reaction by the wicked things that are happening to his body. When Bucky sinks his teeth into Steve’s lip, he can’t help but buck his hips up again into Bucky’s. This time, though, along with the friction he can feel Bucky’s hardness pushing back. In that moment his entire body is burning with arousal, and suddenly urgency takes hold. He needs more than just kisses now, needs Bucky’s touch everywhere, needs more skin and more closeness. 

The hand he’s got at the small of Bucky’s back pushes under his shirt and he revels in the satisfaction of this skin even as he captures Bucky’s mouth with his own. His hand explores further up, and in a flash of inspiration he grips the shirt itself and pulls it over Bucky’s head and off, their lips frantically finding each other again. Now both hands run the length and breadth of his broad back, and as they caress and grip skin a satisfied groan pulls itself out of Steve’s chest. He’s surprised to hear an echo from Bucky, and he pushes his tongue more deeply to explore his mouth, so fucking aroused by the thought that he’s affected just as much as Steve is. 

 

Bucky pulls back from their kiss and away, kneeling back on the couch, and Steve is startled for half a second before he sees that Bucky’s fumbling with his pants, pushing them down and off. Steve hustles to do the same, throwing his shirt and pants haphazardly off onto the floor. 

 

There’s a moment where they just look at each other. Steve takes in Bucky’s erection, fully hard and flushed red and mouthwatering. His muscled torso, beautiful and now available for touching, kissing, licking. His strong shoulders and arms. They’ve seen each other naked about a thousand times but this still feels new, different. 

 

So Steve being the reckless, impulsive man that he is, lunges forward, kneeling up on the couch so that they meet in the middle and pulling Bucky’s body to touch his, Bucky’s mouth to his. As their bodies come together, their cocks align as well, and it feels… like electricity. Steve’s hands are clutching Bucky’s jaw and they’re kissing with a passion that makes his heart ache. He hears the click of a cap and suddenly Bucky’s slick hand is pulling their erections together, wrapping around and spreading slick fluid everywhere it needs to go. 

“Fuck” Steve groans, forehead resting on Bucky’s neck. His hips thrust up into Bucky’s fist, and the sound of their ragged breath fills his ears. He revels in the sensations as they happen, overwhelmed with pleasure. It’s been months since he’s been touched by someone else. 

Steve’s mind starts drifting to what’s next. Will they come like this? What does Bucky want? Does he know anything about gay sex? The lube helping them glide together means that he was prepared, at the very least. 

 

When he’s imagined this, in his head, he’s thought about every possible thing that he and Bucky could do together, never mind the images that Viola helpfully supplied. Steve’s thought about Bucky’s lips wrapped around his cock, and about letting Bucky thrust into his own mouth. He’s wondered if Bucky will let him rim him, and if Bucky’s nipples are as sensitive as Viola’s were. He’s thought about what Bucky will feel like as Steve sinks into him, and what it might feel like to be fucked.

Steve’s amazed that Bucky seems just as gone as he is. What’s more surprising is that he’s not reacting badly to being touched, he doesn’t seem shy or scared or worried or anything that Steve might have predicted based on his history. Still, if Bucky wants to go further, Steve will happily offer to be fucked, to be the more vulnerable one. Steve’s not afraid, and he doesn’t want to push Bucky’s boundaries if he’s not ready. 

With that all in mind, Steve tilts his head to kiss Bucky’s collarbone, and suck a bruise into his skin. He works his way up, biting at his collarbone, licking a stripe up his neck and teasing at his jaw, listening for the tiny gasps and stutters that tell what’s appreciated most. Their hips and hands are still thrusting together, still working them both closer, and Steve winds his hands into Bucky’s hair to pull them apart just enough to look in his eyes. He thrusts lightly, unable to stop seeking friction. 

“What do you want?” He pants. “I want to give you anything. I want to make you come.” See Bucky lost in pleasure, eyes fluttering closed, flushed and sweaty, cock spurting. 

Bucky groans and dives forward for another kiss, filthy and deep, and Steve gets pushed onto his back, lying down the length of the couch. Thank god Tony picked something wide enough and long enough and hopefully sturdy enough for the two of them. 

“I want to fuck you,” Bucky practically growls down at him, eyes dark and intense with lust. 

“God, yes,” Steve gasps out, reaching out to pull Bucky down for another kiss. He can’t get enough of his mouth, of his talented tongue and teasing lips. He feels Bucky reach between them and work his cock with a slick hand, and he groans as he realizes that they actually here, doing this, about to have sex. It’s been on his mind for months, and now that they’re in the moment there’s a surreal quality to the whole thing. He can’t quite wrap his head around it. His body, however, is steaming ahead regardless. 

 

Then Bucky sits up, straddling Steve’s hips with his thighs, encapsulating him with warmth and soft skin, reaching back for Steve’s erection and sinking down onto it slowly.

 

Steve’s dumbstruck. 

 

“Fuck.” He groans at the sensation. Tight and heat and Bucky. “You…. Fuck.” His head tilts back, pressing into the cushion in pleasure but he can’t keep his eyes off of Bucky’s body, knowing that he’s inside. Bucky’s tight, but not painfully so, and Steve realizes that sometime recently Bucky prepped himself. For Steve. His cock twitches at the thought of having gotten to watch that. Or help out.

Bucky grins, a twinkle in his eye even as he bites his lip in concentration. “You didn’t realize that I’ve been planning this for weeks, have you?” he pants out. 

He feels so good that it takes everything in Steve to refrain from bucking his hips up into his lover at that moment. He groans, flooded with arousal at the realization of just what’s been really going on. 

“You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?” he gasps. 

 

That’s it. Bucky’s body is flush with Steve’s, and in this moment they’re one. On one hand he’s desperate for movement, friction, to feel Bucky from the inside. On the other... this is it. This is the first time and he wants to revel, just for a second, in the idea that this is actually happening. He can imagine Viola’s excited victory dance.

 

So as Bucky adjusts, they spend the smallest moment staring into each other’s eyes, intense and just on the edge of too intimate, too vulnerable. Steve’s too overwhelmed to name his feelings right now, to give in to his emotions, but he knows that he and Bucky will have to talk soon. 

 

Bucky lifts himself up until he’s nearly off Steve’s cock, and then sinks slowly, luxuriously down again. Steve’s hands find Bucky’s thick, round ass and hold on for dear life. As Bucky rides him, his head falls back, exposing his pale skin and pushing Steve to lean forward and capture a nipple in his mouth. Bucky moans loudly, stuttering before finding a rhythm with his hips. 

 

“Thank fucking god. I’ve been dropping hints forever,” his voice is sultry as he sends a knowing smile down at Steve.

“Fuck.” Steve gasps, thrusting in counterpoint to Bucky. “you… what?”

Bucky laughs and picks up the pace, little moans punching out of him as he bottoms out on Steve’s cock. “Why do you think I’ve been spending so much time with my shirt off? Rubbing up against you? Stretching and showing off my ass?” He laughs a breathy laugh, and his strong thighs fuck down harder on Steve. 

 

“God!” Steve moans. He’s such an idiot not to have seen it. It’s pathetically obvious in retrospect, and he must have been completely fucking blind not to notice at any point in the last couple of weeks. He’s been desperately ogling Bucky and this whole time it’s been Bucky’s plan for seduction. 

 

Steve’s the one to smirk this time, pulling Bucky’s smug face down for a filthy deep kiss as he thrusts up into Bucky’s ass. He can feel Bucky moan into his mouth and he doesn’t stop, tilting his hips and fucking harder and deeper until he feels Bucky’s back arch and a cry escape his lips. Now that he’s found Bucky’s prostate he grabs ahold of the firm body wrapped around him and hits the spot again and again. 

Bucky’s not even really kissing him anymore, just touching his forehead to Steve’s and moaning in waves, obviously enraptured by the sensations he’s feeling. It only spurs Steve to greater heights, and he grabs Bucky’s back and sits up on the edge of the couch, planting his feet on the carpet and tilting Bucky backwards so that he’s practically parallel with the ground. He grips tight and pulls Bucky down onto his cock harder and faster. Bucky’s erection is wet and flushed between them, rubbing against Steve’s abs, so he wraps one arm diagonally around Bucky’s back to get a good grip and reaches the other down to stroke it, leaning down to nuzzle the skin of Bucky’s chest and lick and suck at a nipple. 

 

Bucky arches beautifully, eyes practically black, hair disheveled, jaw slack, gasping for air and clinging for dear life to Steve’s shoulders. He’s so fucking beautiful, and Steve’s so fucking hot with the thought of him so vulnerable, so open, so obviously desperate… all for Steve. The thought of it makes him growl low in his throat and go harder, pounding into Bucky’s prostate as thoroughly as he possibly can given he’s never done it before. 

 

Finally Bucky lifts his head, eyes boring into Steve’s. The expression on his face is indescribable… he can’t look away, and as he desperately attempts to keep the rhythm between his thrusts in and out of Bucky’s ass, and his hand stripping Bucky’s cock, he can feel it twitch and thicken. A second later Bucky’s shuddering, gasping for breath as he comes all over Steve’s hand and their stomachs, but neither of them look away or even blink. 

Bucky’s showing him the most intimate, most unguarded part of himself, and Steve can’t bear to look away. Can’t bear to try to hold on through the sensation of Bucky’s warm body clenching around him. He lets go, coming deep into Bucky’s ass, not glancing away from Bucky’s eyes once. He doesn’t care what he looks like right now, doesn’t care whether he’s making a face or whether he looks silly. He lets the wave of endorphins flood through his body, filling every part of him with heat and pleasure. And love. 

 

He comes to a minute later, arms intertwined with Bucky’s, still suspending him off the floor, and he easily pulls Bucky to him, nestling his head in the crook of Bucky’s neck in a heartfelt hug. 

 

“I’m glad you didn’t give up on me.” Steve sighs, pressing soft kisses to Bucky’s neck and shoulder. 

Bucky snorts. “Well, I thought you might be a lost cause for a while.” He pulls back, so Steve looks up into his face. Bucky’s eyes soften, and he leans forward to press a chaste kiss to Steve’s lips, then another. They settle back into their embrace with a sigh.

 

Steve knows what’s passed between them. And he’s content, for now, to let it go unspoken and revel in the moment. He can’t help but grin, though, at one particular thought. One that, when he voices it, makes Bucky groan and laugh as well.

He exhales a laugh. “Viola’s gonna throw a party when we tell her about us.”

 

 

 

✮✮✮✮✮✮✮

 

I’m pleasantly sore when I wake up the next morning. I’m also pleasantly surprised to find my hand curled around Steve’s. I’m not up for cuddling yet as we sleep…. but this is progress. I stretch, feeling well used but not exactly hurting despite Steve’s enthusiasm yesterday. I guess that’s thanks to my shitty knockoff serum, so there’s one thing it’s good for. 

 

Everything’s changed. It’s practically summer, and everything is different. 

 

I still don’t know who I am. I’m still not back to normal, and I never will be. But I’ve gotten surprisingly far with what I have. With living a life that isn’t serving Hydra. 

To think that I didn’t want to move to New York. I still don’t exactly love being back here, and I know that Steve doesn’t either. Whenever we get close to Brooklyn he gets tense, feigns nonchalance. But for all that, for all the history and the death and the trauma, I’ve gained just as much by being here. 

I’ve gained some small measure of peace. I’ve gained perspective. I’ve gained a larger circle of friends, even if they’re ones I’m not too keen on spending a lot of time with.

I’ve gained an arm that wasn’t grafted to my body with torture, but instead as an act of kindness. I’ve gained control over my body again, gained the knowledge, thanks to Tony and JARVIS, of every function of my new arm and gained control of its capabilities. One of the things that Tony did, after our grand emote-a-thon, was to make my arm untouchable. No EMP will shut it off, no computer can take it over, no one but me can remove it from my body. It is stronger than the old one, perfect and flexible and beautiful and filled with anything I could need and with it, honestly, I feel strong. I feel whole, and able to fight and not scared anymore. In the back of my mind, Tony’s words about fighting for a team bounce around occasionally. 

 

And Steve. 

The biggest change has been Steve. I’m not sure what it means yet. I doubt he's any closer to that truth. But the potential...the things that could be in store run through my mind on repeat. I smile to myself, remembering how debauched he looked yesterday, how absolutely dumbstruck he was when our bodies came together. 

 

Steve rustles next to me, eyes blinking open softly. He smiles the gentlest smile, and I want to kiss it off his face. 

“Excuse me, sirs. I apologize for calling on you when you’re still in bed.” JARVIS’ british voice floats down from the ceiling. 

Steve runs a hand through his mussed hair. “What’s up, JARVIS?” he asks, his voice still thick with sleep. 

“You have a visitor requesting entry. Mr. Stark approved her entrance, so she is currently in the elevator, estimated time of arrival thirty seconds.”

I’m up, dressed, and headed to the door while Steve is still scrambling out of the covers. I’m awake as if a bucket of ice cold water was poured all over me. I trust JARVIS. I sort of, .tentatively, mostly trust Tony, and that means that the likelihood of this being an enemy is about two percent. That only leaves one person I think it could be. 

 

Steve quickly joins me standing in front of the elevator doors. His shoulder brushes mine, and the heat his body radiates is comforting but honestly I’m not really able to deal with him right now. 

Is it her? I’m practically sick right now with nervousness. I know that she’d said, a thousand times before she left and since, that she’s fine with me and Steve. She practically pushed us together. But still, I have learned a thousand times over that what people say and how they actually react when presented with reality can be two very different things. What if she’s furious? Or hurt? 

Steve and I haven’t talked about anything since yesterday. We haven’t gotten the chance. What if that was the only time? What if, now that she’s back, he doesn’t want to be with me anymore? I don’t actually know whether he wants to be with me at all. What if I was only supposed to keep Steve warm for Viola? 

 

Steve bumps me with his elbow, and I turn to look at him. He looks equally frazzled, equally keyed up. He opens his mouth to speak, but at the same moment we both hear the elevator, quiet as it is, make its way to our floor. We exchange one short look of terror before turning to the doors, watching them fold open and unleash Viola upon us. 

 

There she is. Her dark, curly hair is longer, her blue eyes tired but as bright as ever they were. She picks up her pack, on the floor by her feet, and slings it over her shoulder as she steps into our apartment. 

Her lips curl into a smile. She brushes her hair off a shoulder as she softly says “Hi boys. Miss me?” She eyes are all for Steve. They share an intense look for a good, long, awkward second, and then she turns her piercing gaze to me. I can see surprise flash across her face. “Damn! You look different!” She exclaims. “What the hell, Steve, didn’t think to mention that on the phone?"

 

There is a rush forwards and a flurry of hugs and kisses on cheeks. Viola smells like her normal lavender, plus sun and public transportation. Her skin is as soft as ever. I glance over to find Steve’s eyes are wide and vacant, obviously just as unprepared for this as I am. He’s ruining their reunion and I want to punch him in the arm or something, kick his ass into gear, but there’s no opportunity for subtlety. Plus Viola’s sharper than she lets on. She’s probably already noticed. 

The hugging is over and we three are still standing awkwardly in the foyer. This is Steve’s job, and I have no business taking over here, but he’s obviously caught off guard. The more pressing question is: why isn’t Viola pushing past us right now, making herself at home and generally being living whirlwind that she embodies? Because even I, the emotionally constipated one, can pick up her hesitance right now. 

 

Thankfully or not, right then Tony comes breezing in with Pepper, eager to introduce the ladies to each other and talk her ear off, sweeping her towards the living room and shouting at JARVIS with orders for every breakfast food invented to be delivered ASAP. Steve and I are left standing where we are. For fuck’s sake, ten minutes ago I was sleepily contemplating kissing Steve as we were warm and cozy under the covers. 

Steve looks straight into my eyes and I’m not at all sure what I see there. For some reason, my chest is hurting the longer we stand there, staring at each other. I want him to move. What I want, really, is for him to come the fuck over here, and pull me into a hug and give me a goddamn kiss and reassure me that everything’s alright. The ball is really in his court, right now. It’s his choice, and I know… I know I can’t put pressure on him. I know he’s reeling right now. 

All it would take is a quirk of his lips, a kind smile, a hand on my back. But the longer we stand there, the more certain I am it’s not happening. 

I sigh, turning away from Steve, holding his eyes a for as long as I can before turning towards the living room. I walk, dragging my feet, towards the others, leaving Steve standing alone.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yoooooo. I'm back! The school year has ended, the students are all gone (hallelujah!!) and I'm hopefully going to be able to finish this beast soon! Speaking of which, it's getting verrrrry close to the end notice that tentative chapter count. 
> 
> Ya'll rock, you're fantastic, thanks to each and every one of you who took a chance on a fic with an OC in it. I hope I'm doing you proud. Also seriously I promise a happy ending. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Bucky’s having a nightmare. 

The sounds of Bucky’s whimpers have worked themselves into Steve’s dream until it morphed into a nightmare where he watched as Bucky, struggling and begging for Steve’s help, was strapped down into the chair they’d found in that abandoned bank vault and tortured.

Steve awakes to see that it’s true enough, if only in Bucky’s head. He’s groggy and disoriented, but the fearful whimpers coming from the beautiful man sharing his bed are heart wrenching. 

He doesn’t know how to make it stop. Bucky doesn’t have nightmares when he sleeps with Steve; maybe it’s because, halfway through the night when he usually enters Steve’s bed, they’re already done. Maybe Steve serves as a dream-catcher of sorts. Whatever the case, it’s not true tonight. 

Steve sighs, wishing that the bedtime arrangements hadn’t been quite so awkward last night. Viola had all but shoved Bucky into Steve’s room, come bedtime. She had been awkward and obvious, and they had exchanged a look between the two of them and went along, not really that interested in fighting. Steve’s not sure whether Viola had read in their body language that something had happened, or if she was trying to encourage them to finally get physical. 

Weirdly enough for Viola, she had stuck, lively and charming, with the larger group of Tony, Pepper, Natasha and Clint (who came running when he heard that ‘Steve’s girlfriend’ had arrived), and not allowing Steve to peel her away for a talk. In fact, since she arrived this morning, she hadn’t let herself be alone with Steve or Bucky once. It’s not like her at all, and it makes Steve’s stomach roil with nervousness.

 

Bucky writhes, his brow furrowed as he curls in on himself, and Steve’s attention snaps back to the problem at hand. Unfortunately, he has no idea what to do. 

 

He reaches a hand out cautiously, then thinks better of it and quickly retracts. Touch was a trigger, in the beginning. 

“Bucky…” he croons in his softest, warmest voice. 

 

Nothing happens.

“Bucky… It’s Steve. You’re having a nightmare.” He breathes in slowly and audibly, trying both to calm himself and set a pace for Bucky. 

“Bucky, you’re safe. You’re safe, you’re here in New York.” He thinks about mentioning Tony, but it only takes a split second to decide that’s not a brilliant idea. 

 

Bucky quiets, though his body is rigid, shaking, knuckles white, beautiful face contorted in fear and pain. 

Steve hopes that’s a good sign. He desperately wants to touch Bucky, to run a hand through his soft hair or stroke a warm, grounding line down a shoulder like Viola used to do, sometimes. 

 

“Buck….. Wake up. You’re safe and you’re here with me and I’d like you to wake up. I want you to open your eyes and look at me, okay?”

He breathes slowly again for a beat. Takes his time, trying for patience even when it’s breaking his heart to see Bucky so hurt, so lost. It’s been a long time since he’s seen Bucky like this, and it makes him realize how very far his friend has come. 

“Bucky.” He keeps his voice calm, warm, soft. “Bucky, it’s time to wake up. It’s time to come out of that nightmare and remember that you’re safe now. You’re free.” He purposely does not mention Hydra. “You’re in bed with me, and we’re all cozy here and we can wake up together and have a lazy morning like we meant to yesterday. Before Viola came. You love Viola… wake up so you can see her.”

 

At this point he’s not even paying attention to what he’s saying. He can see that it’s starting to get through in some way to Bucky, because his cries are quieting again, his body slowly starting to relax. He has to keep it going. 

“Bucky, if you wake up I’ll give you a nice long massage. We can get up and I’ll make hot chocolate for you, and blueberry pancakes with whipped cream. Whatever you want. I’ll wrap you in blankets and we’ll cuddle on the couch and watch Aladdin, I think that’s next on the list.”

 

Bucky curls further in on himself. His lips are moving silently, and Steve leans forward to listen, trying to suss out what he’s saying. When he gets within a foot of Bucky’s face, his hearing can finally pick up a steady stream of “No...no, no, please, no, no, no.”

 

Steve’s heart aches. 

 

“Bucky.” He exhorts, “wake up. C’mon, buddy, I know you can do it.” He’s more awake now, a little more desperate.

He braces himself, readying his body in case he needs to step away quickly. Then he gently, slowly, places his hand on Bucky’s right shoulder. 

 

Bucky stills completely. His eyes fly open, darting wildly around the room. 

Steve keeps his hand firmly pressing on Bucky’s skin. Softly, he calls out. “Bucky….”

 

Fast as lightning, Bucky finds his face in the dark room and surges forward to throw himself into Steve’s arms. 

 

Steve’s suddenly glad he braced himself, his arms full of very heavy supersoldier. He eases them down onto their sides on the bed, wrapping his arms around Bucky. “Shhh…. It’s okay, Buck,” he whispers into hair that smells of spice and sweat. 

Bucky’s face is buried in Steve’s neck, his arms tight like a vise around Steve’s torso. He’s trembling so much that Steve can feel the reverberations down to his feet. 

 

He strokes an arm down Bucky’s back, pressing firmly and smoothly, trying to ground him. He breathes in measured counts, sends shushing noises into Bucky’s hair. 

In between one breath and the next, Bucky bursts into loud, shaking sobs. Steve wraps his arms tighter, running his fingers through Bucky’s hair. “Alright, Buck.” He rumbles into the other man’s ear. “Let it out. I’ve got you.”

The tears run. Bucky’s wracked with agonizing cries, wetting Steve’s t-shirt. Steve runs his hand down Bucky’s back, over his shoulders and arms, runs fingers through his hair, uttering quiet words to soothe him. 

“Let it out, Buck.” He intones. “I’m here for you, I’ve got you. You’re safe, you’re well, everything is alright.” 

A minute passes. Steve rocks them both gently side to side. “I’ve got you, buddy. You’re safe with me, you’re home…” he rambles. “You’ve been doing so well, working so hard. It’s okay to let go.” 

God. His heart pulses with empathy. It aches with how much he feels for Bucky, and maybe the feeling resonates just a little inside himself. “You’re so brave, Buck. So very brave, so very strong.” His fingers find the hem of Bucky’s shirt and rub little circles on the skin on his lower back, light patterns up and down his spine. 

“It’s okay, Bucky.” He croons. “Breathe for me, if you can. Give me one good, deep breath.” He takes a deep one, lets the air come and go in a sigh for Bucky to follow. Bucky’s breath comes shuddering out, and though the tears are still flowing, his sobs lessen in volume and intensity. 

He keeps beat with his breaths. “Good, Bucky.” His heart is full, caring for this man in his arms. This is what’s important in this moment, and nothing else. “I love you.”

 

 

His body doesn’t stop moving, rocking, caressing. His brain, however, comes to a swift halt. A tiny bolt of terror strikes into his chest. His mind starts spinning. 

Why did he say that? 

Steve knows, down to his bones, that it’s true. He loves Bucky. But why should that terrify him? Of course he loves Bucky. He’s known him forever. They’ve been through so much together. Before the war Bucky was his rock, his best friend, his confidante, his support in everything. Bucky saved his ass from fights, supported him when his mom died…. He was Steve’s everything. Of course Steve loves Bucky. 

Then the war. Saving Bucky, having him at his side fighting with the commandos. Bucky was the person to keep him humble and remind him where he came from. Losing Bucky was the worst thing to ever happen to him, a truly life-changing event. Ironically, getting Bucky back was just as painful; knowing what he had gone through, what Hydra had done….

And now, being with Bucky for almost a year, watching him recover, watching him grow into a beautiful person who isn’t what he was in the past, but something new and spectacular in its own way…. Of course Steve loves Bucky. How could he not?

 

So why is his heart beating faster? Why is he having such an intense reaction to something that should be a given? 

 

Steve knows, and knows why he’s shying away from the answer. It feels too vulnerable, too exposed. 

 

Because Bucky is everything. The love that Steve has for Bucky is potent, powerful, all-consuming. This isn’t brotherly love, not by a long shot. Steve’s in love with Bucky. 

 

Steve desperately wishes he’d realized this earlier, or that Viola hadn’t chosen this exact moment to return. The truth is, he and Bucky haven’t even had a chance to talk together about the fact that they had sex. They didn’t even talk about the fact that they had unprotected sex, and Steve knows Viola would fume if she found that particular fact out.

What’s more worrying, Steve has absolutely no idea how the three of them fit together. He knows that Viola has had polyamorous relationships in the past… but that doesn’t guarantee that she’d want one now. Steve has no idea if he’d be capable of managing a relationship with two people at once. More importantly, Bucky. What would Bucky think? Is he even attracted to Viola?

Steve has to face the reality that although he’s in love with both Viola and Bucky, he might not get to be with them both- not as lovers. And Viola hasn’t exactly made herself available to talk- not that he can until he talks with Bucky. 

 

This is exactly why he was avoiding thinking about this. There are no good solutions right now, and he’s just told his best friend that he loves him. 

 

He shifts, his attention drawn to the weight in his arms, to Bucky who’s gone silent in the time that Steve was lost in thought. He glances down, and finds Bucky has leaned back so he can look up in return, eyes red-rimmed from crying but focused on Steve, searching for something. He’s so beautiful. Steve wants to kiss every inch of his face, wants to lose himself in his perfection. 

 

That’s right. Bucky’s looking at him because the last thing Steve said to him was “I love you.” 

 

Well. It bears repeating. Steve’s an idiot in about a thousand different ways, but he’s not too stupid to realize that he needs to say it again. So he returns Bucky’s gaze, resists the urge to look away.

“I love you, Bucky. I’m in love with you.”

 

There’s a beat. They sit entwined, staring deeply, intimately, into each other’s eyes. Then Bucky takes a deep, shuddering breath, and they’re moving toward one another. Their lips meet in a fiery kiss, passion and love and excitement and fulfillment overflowing in Steve. Bucky leans forward, pushing Steve gently onto his back on the bed, dark hair falling in curtains as their lips meet and part, tongues delving in to taste. Bucky is warm, and smells of skin and spice. They kiss unendingly. They kiss without pausing for breath, twining further and further into each other. 

 

Finally, with a pant, Bucky pulls away. He’s got a small, fragile, heartbreakingly beautiful smile on his face. “Just in case you couldn’t tell, I love you too.” He grins shyly down at Steve, blue eyes shining. 

 

Steve is light, is warmth, is everything good in the world. He savors this moment between the two of them, knowing that it won’t last forever. Bucky flops down onto his side next to Steve, and Steve turns to face him, curling an arm around his side and sneaking his feet in between Bucky’s. 

 

They lie, foreheads touching, lazily trading chaste kisses, for an indeterminate amount of time. Then Steve realizes it’s the middle of the night. 

“We should go back to sleep. Or… are you tired?” He doesn’t quite know how to bring up Bucky’s nightmare or what he’s allowed to ask. 

Bucky sighs, burying his head in the blanket. “I don’t think I can sleep.”

“Do you… want to talk about it?” Steve asks.

Bucky shrugs. “‘S probably because of the arm stuff. Getting the new arm, I mean” he explains to Steve. “It’s great, don’t get me wrong… it’s amazing. It just brought up a lot of memories of getting the first one.” 

Steve winces. Bucky nods. “Yeah, pretty much. I’ve been having a lot of nightmares since it happened, just….” he shakes his head, looks away. “I know, intellectually, that it didn’t hurt. But having anybody work on it, no matter who it is, it was never gonna be a walk in the park.”

Steve sighs in sympathy, scoots infinitesimally closer to Bucky. “Is it… was it something specific, that we can avoid? Or was it just….”

 

Bucky nods, seeing where he’s going. “It’s everything. I….” He exhales loudly through his nose. “I was awake for all of what they did. They didn’t use anything to numb the pain, and I realize now that if my serum’s anything like yours, they probably couldn’t anyway. But. They experimented a lot, to see what would work, and. I remember it all.” 

 

Steve feels sick. And angry. He’s not sure which is winning out right now; the desire to completely and utterly destroy Hydra, or the desire to scrub the images from his brain forever. He settles on curling his head into the crook of Bucky’s neck and pressing little pecks there, whispering loving words in between each kiss. 

 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles from Bucky’s neck. Bucky shushes him, but he keeps going. “I’m sorry I let you fall. I’m sorry you stayed to fight with me when you could have gone home and it never would have happened.” Bucky makes to argue more vociferously, but Steve simply raises a hand and covers his mouth. “More than any of that, I’m sorry that this happened to you. You have never done anything to deserve what they did to you, and it should never have happened. None of it was your fault, you know that.”

Bucky’s eyes are large and blue and liquid pain. He exhales a long, deep breath. Nods noncommittally. “I know. In my mind, I know that it wasn’t my fault.” He looks away, shrugs. “It’s harder to convince myself that that’s the truth.” He looks back at Steve, and smiles a sad smile. “I’m getting better, though.”

 

Steve smiles back, equally sad. “What can I do to make all this better? Tell me and I’ll do it. Anything.”

 

Bucky sighs and shifts in his arms; Steve delights in the warm sound of skin sliding against skin. He shrugs. “I dunno. Be here? Touch me?” Steve runs one hand up Bucky’s side under his shirt, and Bucky leans into it, sighing happily. “I mean it. Just feeling gentle touch is enough to remind me that I’m not there anymore.” Steve bends his head down to Bucky’s neck, pressing gentle kisses along the length, from his ear to his shoulder. His scent is stronger here, and Steve is overwhelmed with feelings of safety, of completion, of the rightness and goodness of the world to bring them both together here. 

 

Eventually he moves his kisses up to Bucky’s face and plants one last, loving peck on Bucky’s full, soft lips. “I know you have Maria. But if you ever want to talk about it, I want to listen.”

 

Bucky’s eyes crinkle with the hint of a smile. “I will. Thanks. The nightmares will get better… getting the arm just brought up a lot of very old stuff. Stuff I haven’t thought about as much because I’ve been busy thinking about other, more recent shitty stuff.”

 

Steve doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry, but he manages a weird squeak that’s a bit of both. 

 

Awkward silence spreads around the pair. 

Steve shifts nervously. He knows he needs to get this out, no matter how awkward. “We should also…probably….talk about us. You know.”

He’s afraid to look for just a fraction of a second, but curiosity outweighs ego quickly. Bucky’s face is a cubist painting of amusement; stiff in some ways and expressive in others and strangely beautiful. 

Their eyes meet, and Bucky snickers, just a little. “How long’ve you been waiting to ask me to talk about our relationship, buddy?” He waggles his eyebrows. “That was the most awkward sentence I’ve ever heard in my entire life and I’m almost a hundred.” His face sobers then. “You’ve gotta talk to Sam more about this shit. He’s the only one of these guys who’s not so messed up they can’t navigate a normal relationship.”

 

It hits Steve, just for a moment, that Bucky is the one giving Steve advice. It feels satisfyingly, heartwarmingly familiar, and also disturbing on a pretty basic level that makes Steve think he might finally need to make some appointments with Maria for himself.

But he pushes all that aside in favor of focusing on substance. 

 

He opens his mouth to respond, then shuts it again. Bucky’s grin grows. Nope, not done processing yet.

 

Sigh. “Well, then, relationship guru, what do you have for me?”

 

A too-casual shrug, apparently. His eyes dart around the darkened room, but eventually meet Steve’s. “Yeah, we should talk, but it’s not me you really need to talk to.”

 

Steve’s chest feels hollow. The truth hurts, in this case. Now it’s Steve that can’t meet Bucky’s eyes. He feels a burn in his chest. 

 

He nods. Then shakes his head. He exhales a fiery breath through his nose. “Yeah. No, you’re right. I need to talk to Viola. But.” He shakes his head again. “I don’t exactly know what you’re thinking, either.” 

Steve picks at the seam of his shirt, examining it closely. 

 

“Steve.” Bucky’s smooth tones sound. One flesh and one metal hand grab a shoulder, and Steve finds himself on his back again, Bucky straddling him. His hands move from Steve’s shoulders to his face, gently guiding Steve to look at him. 

“Steve. Look at me.” He does. “I love you. I...I dunno.” He blows a breath through his lips. “I want anything you have to give. Does that make sense?” Steve must look as surprised as he feels, because Bucky continues. “If you never want to have sex again, I’ll take it if I get to be your friend. If you want to be in a relationship with me, I’m there.” He pauses. “If you want to be with Viola instead, I’ll support you both. And if you want the three of us…” He shrugs. “We’ll figure it out.”

 

Steve’s shocked. It doesn’t take him long to protest, though. “No. No, I don’t get that. What do you want, Buck? I need to know what you want.”

Bucky just shakes his head. “I want to make you happy. I want a relationship with you. The form doesn’t matter. You figure out what that is, and you get back to me.”

Steve sighs and pulls Bucky’s head down to his. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Shut the fuck up, Rogers.”

 

He laughs. “Fine. I’ll say thank you instead.” His hands start sneaking down Bucky’s back, rubbing the soft skin above his sleep pants. 

Bucky nuzzles Steve’s neck; it makes him shiver. Eventually he comes up for air. “So say thanks then.”

 

Steve takes the opportunity to quickly flip them so that Bucky’s on the bottom. He looks down at him with a wicked grin. “Oh, I plan to.”

 

They don’t go back to sleep that night, but Steve does get a good amount of practice with using his mouth in new ways. 

 

✰✰✰✰✰✰

 

The next day, Sunday, Steve and Bucky nervously made their way into the kitchen, waiting to see what Viola might say. They were disappointed- she was already gone. Her day was booked, according to JARVIS, starting at Yoga with Pepper, then brunch, then one thing or another, all of them listed. Steve wanted to stay up and wait for her, but was swayed when he saw how nervous Bucky was about going to sleep alone. 

Monday, the two are eating breakfast when Viola breezes through, stealing a bagel from the table and rushing to the door. As she waits for the elevator, she tells them that she’s visiting some of her friends that live in the area. “Don’t wait up!” She yells cheerily over her shoulder. 

 

Maybe Steve’s being too sensitive. Viola’s not the type to avoid conflict. She’s obviously not angry with him. Maybe. 

 

Tuesday, Viola comes back when Steve and Bucky are sparring in the gym. Steve asked JARVIS to let him know when she came back; however, by the time he gets back up to their floor, she’s off with Natasha, visiting Clint’s apartment in Bed-Stuy. 

Wednesday, Viola’s actually in the tower. Unfortunately, she’s part of a plot by Tony to do “a cupcake crawl; you know, like a pub crawl but for cupcakes because they’re awesome and we can get the weirdest kinds and figure out which ones are actually good. You should like this, Cap it’s not like you’re capable of turning all that sugar into anything but muscle anyway.” Steve and Bucky go with them, but somehow the revelry and joking rub him the wrong way. He can’t get a moment alone with Viola. 

The pattern continues. Wherever Steve is, Viola’s not. Unless they’re in a group. No matter what, she’s not giving him a chance to talk. Every time he sees her, terror strikes his heart. He should never have let her go. What if, when she left, that was it? Did Viola break up with him, and Steve was just too oblivious to understand? He doesn’t know, and it’s killing him.

 

✭✭✭✭✭✭✭

 

 

The last week has been kind of a shitshow, and today is no different. 

 

I’m sure that this apartment is awesome, but I honestly couldn’t give a shit, seeing as Steve and V are about ten minutes away from something akin to an emotional car-crash. 

 

And we’ve only been here for five minutes. 

 

 

 

It started four days ago. 

 

✯

The first strike involved Tony asking Steve to join the Avengers, officially. Tony had invited us to dinner, and V had happily accepted, leading to the four of us sitting in the living room after dinner while Pepper got dessert out of its box. 

“I mean, you and Mr. Angry Face over there are here in the tower anyway, and you’re not exactly putting your most valuable assets to use sitting like a bump on a log, are you? Hey, maybe Stabby can join us. Or not….” He turned to me. “I’m gonna go out on a limb and say that you’re a trigger happy kinda guy. Not sure if putting you in front of civilians is a good idea.”

 

I could tell what was gonna go down by the way Steve stiffened when Tony said ‘asset’. His chest puffed, his jaw did that thing it does when he’s about to say something stupid, and I rolled my eyes so hard they almost rolled back into my head. Fucking Tony Stark, always sticking his foot right in it. 

“Sorry Tony,” Steve said with belligerent flair, “I guess I don’t see the point of joining the Avengers. It’s not like you guys have been saving the world every week, now is it?” 

 

Tony started to respond, but Steve had been waiting for that, just so he could interrupt. “I should mention, I wouldn’t fight without Bucky anyway. He’s the only one I trust to have my back.” 

Tony started to speak, to Steve’s interrupting delight. “But honestly, I can’t imagine why Bucky would ever want to join the Avengers, not when he’s still classified as a killer. So thanks, Tony, but no thanks.” With that, Steve rose from his seat, making his way into the kitchen to make his excuses to Pepper. 

 

I couldn’t help but sigh; the two of them are such idiots. “Listen, Stark,” I started, not caring at all to try to be nice, “I don’t know what the hell you think you’re pulling.” 

Tony put his hands out, ready with a quippy comeback, I’m sure, but like Steve I had no problem running right over his excuses.

 

“Steve is not okay. He’s not even close to okay.” I said, raising my voice, verbally punctuating every word. “What the fuck are you thinking asking him to join the Avengers?” Tony opened his mouth, but I quelled him with a look. 

“This is the first time Steve’s had a fucking moment to himself since 1941. This is the first time he’s gotten around to even thinking about taking care of himself, or relaxing, or figuring out what kind of a person he is when he’s not Captain America. And you just have to go around giving him every excuse to stop.” 

I sat back in my chair, disgusted. V was arranged on the other side of my couch, watching with interest but obviously not intending to contribute. Tony, on the other hand, looked like I’d just slapped him across the face. 

 

I was still angry, though. “I’m not done with you.” I said, shaking my head. “Everything he’s done so far is about me. Taking care of me, providing me with what I need to get better. He’s just now getting around to realizing that he might want some of that for himself. Don’t you dare fuck with that.”

With one last glare at Tony, I stood up. Extended my hand out to V; “you coming, doll?” I asked. Her eyes were bright, and, for the first time in the five days since she’d been back, she looked genuinely happy. She stood, leaning in to whisper in my ear. “Go ahead, you’ve done the good work here.” She said. “I’ll handle the cleanup, make sure he gets the message.”

With that she pulled her head back to look me in the eyes, then leaned forward again to press a gentle kiss to my cheek. She smelled like V; faintly of lavender and the outdoors. She squeezed my arm as she stepped back, then winked at me and turned back to Tony. 

 

 

 

Steve had been angry, but ultimately unphased by the first conversation, chalking it up to Tony’s insensitive nature and not thinking twice about the larger repercussions. 

And I was hopeful, at the time, that maybe V had come back to us; that she was going to sit down and talk with Steve, that she had just been adjusting to being back with us or that she’d had a hard time with her friend. 

 

Of course, then V shit all over my hopes with one stupid conversation with Pepper. 

 

It’s not our fault that Steve and I have super-freakishly-efficient hearing. V knows that, so I had to assume that she said everything knowing full well that we could hear.

 

V and Pepper had hit it off, and the day after Tony was a dick (which day? You ask. Tell me about it, I reply) she came down to chat with V. They were in the kitchen; V looking through the cabinets at ingredients, calling out ideas for something to make, while Pepper made noises of approval or disgust. 

Steve and I were in the living room. Steve was sketching, and I was curled on the floor, appreciating Cat’s napping abilities and trying my best to emulate them. 

 

“I don’t know how you deal….” V muttered, spice jars clinking as she moves them out of the way. 

“Well, I helped design it. What don’t you like?” Pepper replied with casual curiosity.

V made a noncommittal noise, her voice muffled, which makes me guess that her head’s buried in a cabinet. “Part of it’s the fact that I’m so used to living hand to mouth… everything here is new and expensive. But the other part is just how disconnected it is from the rest of the city. It’s so far away from the trees, from other people. It’s a little disconcerting.”

 

Pepper hummed in agreement. “I can see that. I guess after Malibu, this doesn’t seem so strange. Plus, all my work, and my people, are right here.” She catches a package that V tosses her way. “So, you wouldn’t want to live here full time? What will you and Steve do?”

 

There was a silence, and I had to assume V shrugged or did some other thing to indicate her opinion. My hand curled into Cat’s fur, and he rolled onto his back and stretched adorably. 

 

“No, I wouldn’t want to live here full time. It… I dunno. Makes me think too much of my parents.” V said quietly. 

 

Pepper though, was too smart to let that go without a fight. “Okay. I get that. But what about Steve?” Her voice became less relaxed.

 

There was another long silence. 

 

“How about petits-fours? I just found the almond paste.”

 

I curled around Cat for a moment, full of vitriol, hands shaking with impotent rage. Then, finally, I looked to the other eavesdropper.

 

He sat there, unmoving, face fixed into a thousand yard stare. We stayed frozen, the two of us, for an unending series of minutes, before Steve shook himself out of his thoughts, mechanically moving to put his drawing supplies away. 

I shifted to get his attention, and he glanced at me, then shook his head, his mouth turned down. He stood, smoothing down his clothes, and walked stiffly to the elevator.

 

Steve was gone the rest of the night.

 

 

 

And now we are here, in this stupid apartment, with everything V could possibly want. It’s on the second floor of a small building in Soho. There’s a park across the way. The fixtures are in good repair, but not new or perfect by any means. It has character, I could tell that just from walking around. 

 

Steve’s spoiling for a fight, I can feel it. He keeps biting his lip, which makes me want to bite his lip. But I can’t, because he still hasn’t talked to V. Not that I put all the blame on him; in the last week she has literally done everything possible to avoid being alone with him. The realtor stands unobtrusively by the door, finally coming to the realization that the person who booked the appointment is, indeed, Captain America, and obviously rethinking their conversations thus far for context clues. Moron. 

 

We’ve all mill around the rooms for ten minutes or so when Steve finally starts in on V. “So? What do you think?” He asks us tensely.

I shrug, arms crossing over my chest, completely unwilling to help either one of them out of this mess. 

Steve turns a frosty gaze to V. She smiles, shrugging slightly. “It’s nice!”

 

“Just nice? If you don’t like it we’d better keep looking.” He says, turning to the realtor. 

“No, don’t do that on my account. It doesn’t matter what I think anyway.” V throws at his back. Steve stops in his tracks. 

 

That’s it, I’ve had it. I know I just decided to leave myself out of it, but these two idiots need me or else they’ll kill each other. 

“Out. The both of you, out.” I bark, pushing them with my hands towards the door.

The realtor is obviously a little taken aback. As I push a resisting Steve and V through the door, I pause. “Thanks for the showing. We’ll be in touch.” I say, trying hard for a human-like affect. I don’t even bother to watch the effect my words have as I herd the two of them out of the building and into the closest alley. 

 

Steve finally breaks away, running his hands over his face and then whipping around to face V. 

 

“It doesn’t matter what you think? It doesn’t matter what you think?” He exhorts, his voice getting louder as he goes on. “Why the hell wouldn’t it matter what you think? You don’t want to live in the tower? Fine. Let’s get an apartment. Let’s find someplace to be together.” He’s pacing aggressively. “And hey,” he says sarcastically, throwing his hands up, “maybe if we’re out of the tower, you’ll actually spend some time with us instead of doing everything humanly possible to avoid us.”

 

I desperately want to scream ‘leave me out of this’ but, as much as I’d like to, I know that I’m not separate from it. If I didn’t love Steve so damn much, I would bow out gracefully. As it is….

 

V pretends not to understand. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I haven’t been avoiding you at all.”

 

Steve scoffs, and I can’t help but roll my eyes. “Really?” He retorts heatedly. “No, you know what? I don’t even care about that. You’re avoiding the real issue. You came back, and I thought you were back to be with us, but I was obviously wrong. When are you gonna run? A week? Or less?”

 

V looks down, and my heart drops. I’m so confused, and disappointed, and hurt. I don’t have the same relationship with her that Steve does, but she more than anyone helped pull me together when I was at my worst. I can’t believe she’s going again. I cross my arms, head shaking, unable to deal with this. I look to Steve, and he’s wrecked; angry, and devastated, and disbelieving. It’s heartbreaking. I want to go to him, pull him into my arms, but he needs to have this out with V first. 

 

She’s standing uncomfortably, obviously at a loss. Slowly, her voice wavering, she speaks. 

“Honestly I didn’t think you’d care. Bucky’s so much better now, and you’ve got each other, and Tony and the Avengers… I didn’t think you’d care. I don’t fit in with that world. I just wanted to see you again, for a little.”

 

Both our mouths drop open, but Steve recovers faster. “You didn’t think we’d care? What the hell? Of course we do. Of course we want you here. My being with Bucky didn’t suddenly make me stop loving you.” He runs both hands through his hair, turning away for a moment to gather his thoughts. “I told you I loved you and I meant it. I’m not forgetting you or thinking that you’re not worth doing anything I can to make you happy. What I need to know is, did you mean it when you said you loved me?”

 

V’s eyes are red, tears hovering at her lashes without flowing down. Her full lips alternate between pressing together as if to hold her words in, and quivering with emotion. Steve and I stand at angles to her, tensely awaiting her response.

She sniffs. Shakes her head. “I can’t do this right now.” She says, not bothering to look at either of us. V turns and runs out of the alley, and I follow to its mouth, watching her weave her way through strangers on the street. 

 

I turn back to Steve. He’s staring blankly into space. His nostrils flare, his throat working; but as I reach out an arm to him, he shakes his head minutely. 

Fuck this. Fuck this entire situation. I can’t leave Steve, but I need to. I need to go smack some sense into V before she permanently ruins everything. 

 

So I clasp Steve’s wrist and start pulling him out of the alley. “We’re not doing this here.” I mutter. “You can hate me when we’re back in the tower.” He stiffens, but his resistance crumbles immediately. 

 

I can’t get there fast enough. I pack Steve into his bedroom, walking him to the bed and wrapping him in a blanket, and closing the door as I leave again, wrath building. I stalk to the guest room, and, just like I knew she would, V’s shoving clothes into her backpack, possessions strewn on the guest bed. 

 

She’s crying, but I can’t bring myself to care, honestly. Steve is hurting and this is complete bullshit. 

 

“This is complete bullshit.” I growl at her.

V wipes her eyes, sniffling a little. “Yeah, probably,” she says dejectedly. A sob breaks from her chest. 

 

I stand resolute, my arms crossing protectively over my chest. “Don’t do this. I can’t guarantee he’ll forgive you.”

 

She nods, still packing. “And you? Will you forgive me?” The last item of clothing goes in, and she closes her pack and does up the fastenings. Her eyes won’t make contact with anything but her own hands, holding only what she came here with. 

 

I take a deep, sighing breath. Shrug. “That depends on how all of this shakes out, I guess. You and I….” I shake my head, and she peeks up at me for a second. “You never got time to see who I am, when I’m not crazy. I mean, a little, but… not really.” I shrug. “ But you’re the one who’s leaving.” 

 

V sobs a laugh. “You’re right. You are. I should listen to you,” she says bitterly, looking up at me with the strangest expression on her face. “Why couldn’t you just be possessive? Why wouldn’t you want Steve all to yourself?”

 

Something about the way she says those words sparks a twinge of nervousness in my chest. I open my mouth to speak, to tell her that of course I don’t- what I want is to see Steve happy, but then something else occurs to me.

 

“Is that what you want? To have Steve all to yourself?” I raise an eyebrow. 

 

V’s face crumples. She visibly prevents herself from speaking. She shoulders her pack, heading to the door and into the hall. I follow her to the elevator, and as we wait for it to arrive, she turns to me, looking me straight in the eyes. I can see how much this is killing her, but I know she won’t change her mind. 

“Don’t fuck him up.” She says.

 

I’d never! I think. That’s what you’re doing right now. “I won’t.” I reply firmly.

 

With that, Viola turns into the waiting elevator and is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! As always, let me know what you think!


	22. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. Anyone still out there? I've been having a rough time finding time to write (working a 55 hour work week and having 2 kids will definitely do that) but here things are. Next (last) chapter soon. lots to come before then. Anyway. PLEASE let me know what you think!

The morning after V left I march my ass down to Maria, filled with righteous fury. I’d spent the night sleepless, comforting a heartbroken Steve, and I want validation. I flop down on my blue comfy chair with a nod to Maria and start right in on my diatribe. What right did V have to fuck with our emotions? Why the hell did she even come back? Did she actually admit that she regretted giving Steve and me her blessing?

 

Of course when I’m done doling out the basics I pause for breath and as soon as I look at Maria my heart sinks a little. Because I know that look, and that look isn’t “poor James, let me comfort you,” it’s “let’s talk about how you fucked up.” 

 

 

Shiiiiiiiit. Goddamn motherfucking shitbiscuits fuck fuck fuck. 

 

 

I’m too fucking pissed off for this shit. I don’t wanna let it go yet. Still, I raise a finger, then close my eyes and let out a gust of air, trying to let all the anger I’ve built up go. It takes more than one breath, but I work through it eventually. “Okay. Let’s hear it.” I sigh, looking up at my therapist with a grimace, giving her the ‘come at me’ hand wave.

 

She smiles in her subdued, knowing way, looking almost approving. “Let’s stop right there and recognize that. I’m impressed with how easily you were able to let that go.” I nod at her to go on, but she sticks with it. “Acknowledge your successes, James. A few months ago you wouldn’t have done that. A few months before that, you wouldn’t have admitted to feeling vulnerable at all. You’re really doing fantastic.” I swallow nervously and nod again, trying to meet her eyes this time. 

 

“Secondly, I’d like to draw you a picture. Are you ready?” Oh god. I’m not, I never am for this shit but I nod anyway because there’s no point in putting this off. No matter how often they happen, I’m still not comfortable facing uncomfortable truths. 

 

“You love Steve.” I nod, which appears to be my primary form of communication this session. “You’re not the only one.” I nod again. “But you let Viola love him. Granted, they were already together when you entered their lives, but at no point when they were together did you try to break them apart or insist that your love for Steve was more important or more worthy.” 

 

Duh. “Of course not. Even if Viola doesn’t see it, what she and Steve has is amazing. She made both our lives a hell of a lot better.” 

 

“And sometimes we have things happen that are outside of our relationship. For example, you didn’t feel like you could start a relationship with Steve until you had gotten past certain things we’ve discussed in our sessions.” Another bob of my head.

 

“So this is the picture I want to paint for you.” Her voice borders on melodic when she’s speaking like this. “You’ve been away, maybe doing something that’s hard for you that has nothing to do with your relationship, but being away might have made you a little insecure, as it tends to do with most people. You need some reassurance that the person you love still loves you. But when you return, you find the person you love smack in the middle of a pretty big relationship change with someone else they love. Bad timing, I know,” she shrugs her shoulders, gesturing expressively, “but it doesn’t change the fact that, when you needed some love and validation of your worth and feelings, your partner wasn’t in the same headspace. It’s one of the hardest parts of reunions,” Maria says. She relaxes into her chair and lets a smile grace her lips.

 

“My husband used to travel for work. A month here, two months back, then gone again. And the thing that we learned very quickly was that, when he returned, our needs and expectations were always very different.” She laughs. “I would get excited to have him back so we could do things as a couple again, and he would be tired and need quiet. I would try to anticipate his needs, and not plan a thing, and I’d be running along behind him as he was a whirlwind of activity. When people in a relationship spend time apart, no matter how frequently they communicate, they have a time when they’re not on the same page, and it takes quiet and communication and a relaxation of expectations to do that gracefully.” She gestures one pale hand toward me. “This particular instance was made worse by about a thousand different things. New living space, new rules, new relationship.”

 

I let my head rest on the chair back, already seeing where this is going. Still, Maria usually goes farther down the path than my fucked up brain does on its own. 

 

“Imagine that you had emotional needs like the ones we’ve mentioned, and are met instead with a partner who’s so wrapped up in other, no less important,” she stresses, “parts of his life, that you find you’re the odd person out. You try to embrace it, but you don’t actually know the situation and you’re not really trying because you’re trying harder not to be upset at your fears coming true.”

 

I protest at that. “That’s not true, though! We were happy to have her back! Maybe in that moment we weren’t so happy, but we both missed the shit out of her. We didn’t want her gone.”

 

Maria smiles and shrugs. “In essence, it doesn’t matter. Viola perceived she wasn’t wanted, and it played into her fears and set you all up for an unfortunate week.” She pauses, looking thoughtful. “The way in which Viola reacted in particular says things about her greater fears and desires, but that’s something that you can easily figure out with communication. And,” she says with a twinkle in her eye, “if you’re planning on starting a relationship between the three of you, communication is definitely going to be key.”

 

I might blush. Might not have wanted to mention this in front of an older, respectable lady, in case of offending sensibilities. Should’ve known better. I shake my head, running a hand through my hair. It gets tangled, so I give up. 

 

“I don’t know what to respond to first.” She smirks, and I sigh. “I… okay. So what you’re saying is that this is Steve’s and my fault, we fucked up. And we need to communicate to fix it, but I don’t even know where the hell she is or how to get ahold of her!” I grate, frustrated at my idiocy this past week. “Seriously, you think that after all that we’ve still got a chance to have a relationship?” I ask incredulously. Not that I would know, not having had an actual relationship…..ever. I mean, back before the war a relationship meant getting married. This is a whole new, confusing, game. 

 

Maria leans forward. “You didn’t fuck up. Or if you did, all three of you did. It isn’t like Viola was a saint in this, or a victim to you two. You all failed to be open and honest, and you all let your emotions, your fears, get in the way, and you definitely can’t keep doing that if you want things to work. And I do,” she levels her gaze at me, “think that this isn’t the end. Maybe all that’s left is a resolution and a peaceful goodbye, but I don’t feel like that’s the last you’ll hear from Viola."

 

Maria sighs. “If it were, though, so what?” My jaw drops, but she waves me silent. “I don’t mean that like you think. I mean, ‘so what will you do next?’ because you have absolutely no control over her actions. You can choose to drop everything and hunt her down with every resource available to you and Steve and Tony Stark, sure. She might still manage to evade you. You might see her tomorrow, and things might be perfect or they might be horrible and she might tell you never to contact her again. So what will you do next?” She leans forward again, looking me earnestly in the eyes. “Are you going to wait here for her? For how long? Or are you going to get on with your life? If so, what does that look like? This past week derailed your plans and intentions in a pretty major way, and that could be a very good thing. Now you have the opportunity to reexamine your life. What’s working? What’s not? What do you really want?

 

The best piece of advice I can give you is that no relationship, no matter how perfect, should be the only good thing in your life. We’ve talked before about how that relates to Steve,” she intones wryly. We definitely have, at that. “Now’s the time to think about that again. Not just for you, but for Steve as well.” 

 

Food for thought. I sit silently for a good, long moment. Finally, I look up at Maria, nodding along to my own thoughts. 

 

“Can I bring Steve in for a joint session tomorrow?”

 

 

 

✰✰✰✰

 

 

 

A day and a half later, Bucky nuzzles further into his chest, and Steve covers them both with the blanket. As they settle down to sleep, basking in the warmth of each other's’ skin, Steve works his fingers gently through Bucky’s hair, listening to his quiet sighs and purrs. 

 

He sighs. “You sure this is the right choice?” He asks, pressing a kiss into Bucky’s temple.

 

Bucky wraps a leg between his and slips a hand up Steve’s shirt and around to his back, reveling in smooth, warm skin. “You know it’s the right choice” he grumbles. “Don’t let yourself feel guilty for doing something for yourself for once in your fucking life.”

 

Steve nods, taking a deep breath. “I know. It’s just….”

 

“I know, buddy.” 

 

✰

 

 

It is a big decision, though, and they’ve had a pretty emotional ten days, so they decide to wait another week, let things marinate a little before making another huge life change. The extra time has some benefits; for the most part, they take the time to put everything in order and make more detailed plans. They buy supplies, they do research, they make decisions. In this time, Bucky sees Maria twice. Steve sees her once more, in the company of a man named Amal Ashe, Steve’s first ever therapist. 

 

“Yay.” Steve weakly replies when he’s greeted by an incredibly enthusiastic Bucky after his first appointment. He doesn’t complain about the victory blowjobs that follow, though. 

 

It’s a big decision, and they had to do rock-paper-scissors to decide who would tell Tony. And then best out of three, then five, then seven, until Steve ended up in a headlock from Bucky’s metal arm, and the only way he could think to get out of it led to more sex, so eventually they just decided to go together and save each other when all hell breaks loose. After the sex. 

 

This is a good plan, because Tony is pissed. They can tell by the way he freezes, motionless, arms buried deep in an Iron Man suit, for a solid minute before he starts running his mouth. 

 

“Well, I can’t say I’m surprised, epic love affair and all, makes sense,” he snarks into the suit. Quieter at first but volume increasing, he mutters “it’s not like I went to any trouble, whole apartment, Cap proof punching bags, metal arm… not like you guys will ever come visit.”

 

He probably didn’t mean for them to hear the last bit, but Bucky’s not exactly up for tact. He wants this conversation over as quickly as possible. “If we promise to visit you, will you cut back on the angst a little?”

 

At that, Tony turns. Puts down his tools, crosses his arms. “Make your best offer.”

 

“Once a year.” Bucky’s arms also come across his chest. Steve’s left standing to the side, unsure whether to smirk or be worried. 

 

“Every month and any accidental Avengering doesn’t count.” 

 

“Four times a year; two we come to you, two you come to us, accidental Avengering counts if it’s longer than 4 hours and we stay for food after.”

 

“Deal.” Neither of the men bother to shake hands; instead, by some strange instinct they turn simultaneously away, Tony to his work, and Bucky to grab Steve and head to the elevator. 

 

“C’mon, let’s get going while the going’s good.”

 

Once they’re in the elevator, Bucky sighs, shaking his head. “He gave in too quick. I should have tried for less.”

 

 

✰

 

The goodbye takes a little longer than they anticipated. As they make their plans, memories are brought to the forefront, plans they had made almost a century ago. Once old dreams come to light, and with the realization that they won’t be around for long, they craft a short-term itinerary. 

 

The past few years, both Steve and Bucky had experienced disgust with New New York. The giant concrete box store that had steamrollered over the school they grew up in… the unrecognizable building blocks they grew up on, it was heartbreaking. It was the nature of the city to wait for no man, to change and move and never stop, but knowing that didn’t soften the blow. 

 

With their most recent spurt of nostalgia, the pair had moved past resentment to action. 

 

✰

 

They find the church they both had made their first communion at. After five antsy minutes next to Steve on the bench, Bucky screws up his courage enough to ask. 

 

“So what’s up with you anyway? I’d’ve thought you’d be going to church every week.”

 

Steve know’s it’s been lowkey bothering Bucky for a while. He smiles softly to himself, glad it finally had the opportunity to come out. 

 

He shrugs. “Different now. The mass is in English, all of the changes, the whole thing’s just…… dunno. Not as important.”

 

Bucky seems to know instinctively there’s more to the story, because he simply stares. 

 

Steve holds out for a good minute, testing his patience. Finally, with an eyeroll and a smile, he gives in. “I know, I know,” he singsongs, “I can’t explain it. When they thawed me, it was pretty fucked up for a while. They put me in this cabin up north for a while, and then I had barely been back and the Chitauri attacked. And then there was cleanup. And I didn’t want to be in the city any more. By the time I moved to D.C….” he shakes his head gently. “It wasn’t part of the future. The present, whatever. I tried it a few times, but it was so different, and I felt like a fucking hypocrite for being there. I’ve met Thor. I crashed into the ocean but didn’t die.” Bucky exhales harshly through his nose, then nuzzles closer. “Honestly,” he shakes his head, “finding out what they did to you, what you went through for all those years… that would have made me question my faith if nothing else did. I’m not too bothered by not going to church anymore. This place,” he gestures around them, to the same stained glass windows, the same pews they grew up in, “it’s good to remember with you. It would have been too hard before. But church, in general? I don’t need it. I know what I stand for, what I believe in, and I don’t feel too bad about the rest.”

 

✰

 

They tour through a few stops. Having Bucky by his side makes everything take on a new shine for Steve. The last time he’d thought about seeing these places, he’d barely been awake, Bucky had barely been dead a month. The thought of being reminded so blatantly of what he’d lost would have killed him. 

 

Now, though, they get into the swing of their farewell (hello again?) tour. They ride the Cyclone and spend the entire day at Coney Island. They eat about ten times as much food as they ever would have been able to afford before. They keep a low profile, wary of the press, but sneak a kiss at the top of the ferris wheel. 

 

 

They investigate Brooklyn a little more deeply, finding little treasures that have stayed the same, like the delicatessen they would go to when they actually had money to spend on something nice. 

 

One day, Bucky takes over the plans and keeps everything secret from Steve. He feeds him breakfast in Manhattan, waffles with whipped cream, bacon, good coffee. It’s not exactly a surprise when they arrive at the Frick and take in the exhibit. After lunch (sushi, miso soup, the works), they head to the Whitney. They head from there to dinner. Steve’s delighted more by the thoughtfulness of the gesture and the patience that Bucky’s shown with something that he’s not as inclined to spend a day doing. 

 

 

Two days before they leave New York, they buy flowers. Hand in hand, they visit first Sarah Rogers’ grave, then Bucky’s parents, sisters. Steve had gone before, in the daze of time right after he woke up from the ice, but this is the first time for Bucky. It’s not a good day, but it is necessary, and right. They stand together, hands clasped tight, as they meet their past. They greet their heartaches as old friends, and stand tall when tears come. 

 

That night, Bucky is quiet and pensive, cuddling up to Steve as they watch some mindless movie. Eventually Steve glances down at him, pulls him in tighter for a hug. 

 

“You ok?” He knows Bucky will know what he’s asking about. 

 

Bucky smiles faintly, nuzzling like a cat against Steve’s chest. “Yeah…” he rumbles, “but I’m thinkin about adding a stop to our itinerary.” 

 

 

✰

 

 

Unavoidably, unfortunately, the last day is filled mostly with last minute packing and, worse, a farewell party thrown by Tony. 

 

It’s a gaudy affair, unsuited to either man’s temperament and very obviously one last parting dig at them for abandoning the tower. Still, they power through it, for Tony. Steve gets a little alone time with Natasha, something he realizes he’s missed- he being so wrapped up in with Bucky, and she with her own secretive goings-on. He chats with Pepper, a conversation that fills him with warmth and hope in the way only Pepper can. Clint spends most of the evening posturing around Bucky, as is his habit, but Steve does rise to Clint’s challenge of a cupcake eating contest at one point. He’ll say this; Tony may have planned a truly ridiculous going away party, but the food is fantastic. 

 

Bucky, obviously finds Clint’s professional jealousy hilarious, and can’t stop baiting him with taunts about “the world’s second best sniper”. Clint walks away in a huff at one point, only to return with more arguments on his lips. Shortly thereafter he’s dragged away by Natasha, who says her goodbye to Bucky in the form of an efficient, understated, nod. 

 

Tony pulls everyone around to “pin the star on the supersoldiers,” and insists, despite much pleading on the part of everyone, on making a speech.

 

“Okay, okay. I wrote this down, but hmm…” he squints at his phone a little. “It doesn’t look as good as it did last night when I was drunk, I might have to wing it.” Steve puts his head in his hands, while Bucky mockingly pats his back. Pepper is completely ignoring Tony in favor of a conversation with Bruce.

 

“Dear Cap and Scary Assassin; icicles obviously attract, because the two of you found each other and you only had to partially destroy a city and pine for months to do it. By the generosity of me, Tony Stark, Iron Man, billionaire, Pepper-lover, philanthropist, your lives have been made better. I understand that, although by my grace your lives are improved, you want to fly the nest and be free. So be free, my little nestlings, and find your sea legs. Or….” he pockets his phone. “Sue me, drunk me isn’t great at analogies.” People can’t help but laugh at that proclamation. 

 

“Anyway,” Tony forges on, regardless of the desire of his guests, “I just want you to know that you’ll always have a place here, in the most sciency place on earth, Stark Tower.” The partygoers sober for a moment, curious as to whether Tony is actually being genuine. All eyes turn towards him. 

 

“Because let’s face it, who wouldn’t want to live here? You guys can go drive around in a gross car, we’ll be living it up in the best city on earth, in the lap of luxury. You’re welcome, Tony Stark out!”

 

Bucky is the one to groan this time, and they both grab one last cupcake (or three) before tackling Tony with thank yous and goodbyes. 

 

 

✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮

 

 

 

Leaving is a bit of a let down, in the end. As we get into the car and on the road we’re consumed with all of the minutiae of leaving, and it feels hectic and anticlimactic, trying to remember if we brought what we need, making sure to pee, getting snacks. It’s about an hour later, when they’re finally out of the city, that it hits me. 

 

We’ve left. 

 

We’re making changes, we’re taking charge of our lives for… maybe the first time ever. Certainly the first time this century. 

 

It feels fantastic. Weightless, endless possibilities. It also feels fantastic to sit in the passenger seat, tossing Steve’s phone up in the air. I can see Steve fidgeting, wanting to grab it back from me, but he know’s that I’m too fast and he has to concentrate on the road. Still, after his third sigh in as many minutes, I’m compelled to speak up.

 

“This was part of the plan, remember?” I lightly chastise him.

 

Another sigh. “I know, I know,” he says, shaking his head back and forth, “I just…. I want to know.” 

 

I can’t help but smile, he’s so fucking cute. “I get it, buddy. I do too. But do you really wanna let this ruin our trip?”

 

Steve starts to respond, but I cut him off. “Tell me that if some asshole says something, you won’t turn this car around and go fight him. Look me in the eyes and tell me.”

 

Steve huffs. “I can’t look you in the eyes, Buck, I’m driving.” I turn to face him, crossing my arms over my chest, and stare. 

 

He rolls his eyes. “Fine. You know you’re right, I know you’re right, the whole world knows it. But…” he emphasizes, “you have to admit that it’s a big freaking deal.”

 

 

We both sit in silence, honoring the truth of that statement. 

 

Steve clears his throat, but when he speaks again, he’s still a little hoarse, a little emotional. “I never thought I’d be able to come out. You know?” I nod, but I know he’s not looking. My own eyes feel a bit wet as well. “I never thought I’d live to see gay marriage celebrated. I never thought I’d live to see openly gay people, happy and fulfilled.” 

 

We’re silent for a bit longer, watching the trees fly by the side of the road. “I mean,” Steve adds, “Bi invisibility is definitely a thing, and I know Pepper and I did a really good job with that statement, but I also know that people are gonna interpret it how they want to, and I know I can’t see that kind of idiocy without fighting it.” He sighs. I nod, almost wanting to laugh at the idea of Steve vs. the Right Wing Anti-Gay movement. “I’m also a little worried about the rest of it.”

 

I actually turn to look at him. “You mean the Poly stuff?” That’s practically the most important part. It’s a good half of the reasoning for doing this all now, making the statement to the press, going on our road trip simultaneously so that we won’t have to see the fallout. Steve nods. I shake my head. “Nope. You don’t get to apologize for that one. That’s the point, Steve. We’ve both said over and over again that, as much as things have changed, they’ve got a long way to go. This isn’t even just about Viola and us being able to be together long term. It’s about people like us. It’s about being a mouthpiece for something that’s seen as wrong for no good reason. C’mon,” I say, laughing a bit. “You know this. You’re the one who gave me these talking points.”

 

Steve nods, letting his face relax a little. His right hand comes out to find mine, squeeze it tight and settle on the armrest in between our seats. 

 

“Plus,” I add, never one to miss the opportunity to be a little shit, “It’s too late now. Cat’s out of the bag. Captain America’s a queer.”

 

He rolls his eyes and fakes jabbing me with the elbow of our joined hands. I lean over to smack a kiss on his temple. “C’mon, let’s get a little further down the road so I don’t feel so guilty about stopping for a snack.”

 

 

 

✰✰✰✰

 

 

So they travel. First they head south to D.C., Cat mewling in the backseat in intervals. They take frequent breaks to let him out, and decide to camp as well rather than find a pet friendly hotel. They could have made it in one day, but that’s not the point anymore. There’s no other task than for the both of them to enjoy each other’s company, enjoy the scenery, enjoy their lives. It makes Steve’s heart ache for Viola, though. He knows that if she were here, she’d be able to show them how to light a fire without matches, or what wild plants were edible, or something else wonderful, and he needs to wrap himself in Bucky’s arms just to fill the hole of her presence. 

 

They pull into DC with the express desire to spend some quality time with Sam. Steve takes Bucky around to all of the art that Viola made while she was in the city. It hurts to see that some of it’s been painted over, that the colors have faded. After, Steve draws in his sketchbook. In his picture, he shows Viola, laughing, eyes bright as she pulls him along the street. 

 

Sam’s not particularly happy to be watching after Cat, for all that he volunteered. He’s even less happy when he realizes that Steve and Bucky are defiling his guest room. He had protested the morning after they’d arrived, citing decency, having to listen to stuff he never wanted to hear, and the like. Bucky had innocently replied, “But Sam. Sam, Steve and I have barely gotten to have sex. It’s a really big deal. Seriously. Last night was the first time that I’ve gotten to fuck Steve instead of the other way around, you know? You can’t expect me to say no to that! Don’t take away the sex, Sam!”

 

Steve hadn’t been able to stop laughing for a good ten minutes at the expression on Sam’s face. That night, he wished them a good night, closed his door, and turned on music. Steve could tell from Bucky’s face that he was going to take that as a challenge, but he eventually talked him down with a promises of sneaky shower sex in the morning. 

 

Bucky had been pretty amazing so far on their trip. He’d stayed true to his vow to keep Steve’s phone away, at least until the temptation to read the news had passed. He’d been a lively companion, getting into his role as navigator, picking interesting places to stop and eat. Best of all, though, Bucky had picked up almost immediately on how much Steve had missed Sam. The morning after they had arrived, they’d gone for a run, Steve and Bucky for once willing to go at Sam’s pace, more interested in catching up with him than working their muscles. Then Bucky announced his decision to spend the rest of the day going “shopping,” leaving Steve and Sam to catch up. Bucky had been so sweetly adamant about not wanting company- he threw in some mentions of sex toy shopping just for kicks. Steve and Sam went for coffee, chatted, made a pizza for dinner, and Steve realized just how much he had missed getting to spend time with his friend, not just talk over the phone or text. 

 

When Bucky made his triumphant way (noticeably without shopping bags) to Sam’s house that evening, Steve had greeted him with a firm, heartfelt embrace, pressing kisses to his neck, behind his ear, across his face. He led Bucky upstairs to the guest room, pushing him down to the bed and worshipping him, whispering his thanks. At some point, Bucky flipped Steve down to the mattress, stripping his clothes off, pressing warm skin to skin, forehead to forehead. Bucky entered him slowly, shushing Steve’s cries by pressing their lips together, tongue dipping to taste his mouth. They came together slowly and gently, gradually building to their climax. Bucky held Steve tight as he shook apart, feeling open and vulnerable and filled and cared for all at once. 

 

 

 

The last day in D.C., Bucky begrudgingly follows Steve and Sam to the VA. They had both had phone sessions with their respective therapists the day before, and Steve’s had suggested that he go for a group session while they had the opportunity, in a place that Steve identified as safe. For a million reasons, it feels so much easier for Steve to share this time. He opens up, and feels a small part of himself lighten. Bucky has a harder time, for so many reasons, not least of which is that most of what he might share would be traumatizing for the other group members. Still, he speaks of helplessness, of gaining agency back, and it gives Steve real hope…. Hope that they might really be okay; that whatever happens next, things will get better. 

 

 

 

 

✰

 

The days go like this: 

 

 

Bucky misses Cat. Whenever Steve calls Sam, Bucky will ask him to put Cat on, and speak quietly into the phone for as long as Sam will put up with. He’s disappointed that Sam can’t manage to get Cat to Skype with them.

 

Bucky and Steve speak on the phone with their therapists every few days. They try to have that day be a rest day, a day when they can think and recover and not feel pressed upon by the world. Steve has it harder than Bucky, as he attempts to forge a relationship with Amal. They’re still getting to know each other, and Steve is still figuring out how to deal with feeling exposed, uncomfortable, emotional. He isn’t afraid, exactly… it’s more the discomfort of a new situation. 

 

Still, having someone to check in with helps. It’s still terrifying, being selfish. He talks about himself, tries to tell his story. It’s good, and painful at the same time. 

 

Pepper calls as well, once a week as agreed upon when the plans were made. She updates Steve on the media response to his coming out in vague terms that leave out the incendiary comments, that discourage him to rush back to New York and fight the good fight. The response is, in all senses of the word, predictable. Right wing groups denounce him as a traitor. Left wing groups come to his cautious defense. LGBT organizations are asking for his support. Celebrities have tweeted about him, and late night shows make jokes. Most of them, as predicted, center on the polyamory rather than the fact that he’s bi. Pepper explains to him why the internet has created the hashtag #captainunicorn, and nothing has really changed. People forget surprisingly quickly, which Pepper reaffirms is because he’s nowhere to be seen, and one piece of news is only news for so long. 

 

 

 

The days go like this:

 

Long days in the car, Bucky cracking jokes. Bucky googling the weirdest restaurants he can find and then navigating Steve to them. Sun, warmth, and relaxation, stopping whenever they like. 

 

Spending the whole day in bed at their bed and breakfast, exploring each other’s bodies and finding every sensitive spot. Steve discovers that Bucky is ticklish under his knees, but the kind of ticklish that will leave him hard and gasping and begging for Steve to touch him. Bucky slowly tortures Steve by gently caressing his nipples, letting them harden and then sucking, biting, pinching, until Steve’s back is curved off of the bed and the gentlest touch to his prick makes him come and come and come. 

 

 

The days go like this: 

 

Finding a new place to run every morning. They explore city blocks, running past stores, through parks, finding interesting sights to revisit at a slower pace later in the day. They explore the deep woods, finding hiking trails and forging their own paths and chasing each other around trees, the fastest game of hide-and-seek they’ve ever played. They explore their bodies, their physical limits, out of the sight of mere mortals. They compete with each other in good humor, pushing their bodies until they tire, honing their skills. Then, when it gets too real, too close to the past, they stroll lazily along, giggling and exchanging kisses as they meander back to wherever they started. 

 

The days go like this:

 

In New Orleans, Bucky pulls Steve down onto the bed and kisses him everywhere. It takes him long, pleasurable minutes, covering all of the spots that he’s gotten to know a little, now. Finally he turns Steve onto his stomach, lifting his hips to lick from his balls up his cleft. Steve gasps and shudders, sunk so far into the sensations of his body that he can’t quite bring himself to be embarrassed. Bucky licks, sucks, teases his hole, opening him ever so gently and slowly. By the time Steve’s body can take two of Bucky’s fingers, he’s half sobbing into the pillows, begging Bucky to fuck him. It doesn’t take much to convince Bucky, and he enters Steve slowly, with the same gentle intensity, bringing Steve slowly to his peak, so slowly that he doesn’t realize he’s practically screaming before he comes, his head going white, his body only sensation, all thought gone except the thought of Bucky. 

 

In Chicago, Steve returns the favor. Bucky’s eager for it, breathlessly anticipating every move that Steve makes. Steve revels in Bucky’s reactions, pressing him down into the bed with a hand in the middle of his back, diving in for a moment before pulling back to tease him. Bucky writhes on the bed, wiggling his ass in Steve’s face, begging prettily and cursing Steve in equal measure. Steve dives back in, only giving him a moment of contact before he disengages, waiting until Bucky begs again to use the hand not holding Bucky down to deliver a solid smack to Bucky’s ass. 

 

There’s a split second of absolute silence before a long moan spills out of Bucky. The desperate, unfocused squirming intensifies, and Bucky whimpers a plea for more. Steve puts his weight forward just a bit, pressing Bucky further into the mattress while he delivers another swift smack. He can’t bear to hold back any longer, eating Bucky out desperately, hearing his cries, using all of the tricks he learned from Viola, grasping one butt cheek and massaging it roughly. He’s moaning into Bucky’s ass, and Bucky’s reduced now to whimpering sounds, writhing harder and harder, moaning whenever Steve presses him harder or gifts him with another slap. 

 

Finally, Bucky tenses tighter and tighter, the sensations Steve is providing and the friction from the bed enough to bring him crying to orgasm. They both pant, one sated, the other desperately hard, for an unending breath. Then Bucky lifts his ass, offering himself up to Steve. Steve guides himself into Bucky, and as desperate as Steve is to come, he starts slowly, fucking with long, deep strokes into Bucky, merciless and completely focused on Bucky’s momentary submission. It doesn’t take long for Bucky to get hard again, not with Steve relentlessly fucking him, pushing him into the bed. From their new position, though, with Bucky’s hips in the air, he can’t get any friction. Finally, he whines and asks, “Steve… please.” 

 

Steve thrusts harder, totally enraptured by the way they come together. He slaps Bucky’s ass again, slowing down just to tease. He angles right down to Bucky’s prostate, drawing renewed cries from below. “Never knew you liked a spanking, Buck….” he pants. “Maybe next time I’ll get you over my lap and turn your ass red.” 

 

“Oh god, Steve!” Bucky cries. He squirms again, Steve keeping him firmly on the mattress, fucking right onto his prostate, pulling more and more intense noises from his soft lips. His dark hair is splayed beautifully across the white sheets, a beautiful picture of hedonism. Steve feels his orgasm start to build, and he knows that Bucky’s close as well, so he fucks harder, faster, bringing them up the the finish. Steve lets out a groan, letting his head loll back, savoring the sensations in his spine and cock. “So fucking gorgeous..” he groans out. With one last sobbing gasp, Bucky tenses, shudders, and comes, clenching deliciously around Steve’s cock. With a few more hard thrusts Steve gives in to his own orgasm, folding over Bucky’s back and gently coming to a rest, feeling Bucky’s chest moving as they both gasp. 

 

Bucky shifts, and Steve rolls off of him, panting with exertion. “Let’s do that again.” 

 

 

Colorado is a bit more embarrassing. Steve is on his knees for Bucky in the middle of the woods, far from any hiking path- or so they think, until a group of hikers is nearly upon them. Steve picks Bucky up, running shorts around his ankles, and carries them behind the shelter of a large pine tree, waiting breathlessly until the strangers have gone. They both collapse in laughter, realizing that they’ve gone clear over the mountain from where they’d started, away from one set of trails and onto another. Steve waits until they’re safely ensconced in their tent to quietly finish the job. 

 

 

 

They wait until they get to Washington to try to get high. They’d spoken about it, been curious enough to give Bruce a call (which inevitably led to a conversation with Tony, but that’s the price for expertise). They hadn’t decided one way or another until Bucky had walked by a dispensary and seen some edibles that he was intrigued by. That night they start off slowly, eating the dose recommended by the employee. They cuddle together watching Wall-E, waiting to see if it affects them. After an hour it’s clear that it hasn’t done much, so they decide to eat the rest of what they’ve bought. 

 

Fifteen minutes after that, they’re giggling at the screen, fighting for the last of the Doritos. Once they’ve polished off the snacks they had bought “in case of munchies” earlier in the day, Bucky turns to Steve, who is working on picking out another movie. “Steve,” Bucky slurs, “I think we’re officially high now.” 

 

Steve turns owlishly to Bucky, who can see the mental wheels turning in his head. “I think you’re right. Now what do we do?”

 

Bucky shrugs. “Pick another movie and order take-out?”

 

And so they do. About the time that the Princess Bride is over, they’ve come down from their high, finding it ultimately anticlimactic. Still, they make sure to text a picture of themselves to Natasha and Sam, just to let them know that it really does work. 

 

 

 

By the time they finally make it to the Grand Canyon, they’ve gotten into a strange pattern. Run, fuck, eat interesting food, talk with therapists, map out a new destination and an inventive way of getting there, FaceTime with Sam and Cat, etc. That’s why it’s a bit of a shock when Pepper calls only two days after their last conversation, while they’re still in their hotel room, packing up. They know she’d only break the routine if there was something big, so they’re braced for bad when they answer. 

 

“Steve, hello,” Pepper greets them warmly. “Is Bucky there as well? You should put me on speaker if you haven’t already.”

 

“Hi Pepper,” Bucky calls out. “We can both hear you. What’s up?”

 

They exchange a look, of nervousness, solidarity, love. There’s a lingering silence on the other side of the phone. 

 

“Well,” Pepper says briskly. “I thought you would want to know about the letter.”

 

Bucky’s eyebrows contort in confusion and Steve wants to kiss him. “Letter?” He prompts. 

 

“We got a letter a few days ago. It took a bit to get through screening, which we do for all of the mail that comes into the tower, whether it’s Stark Industries or Avengers related. I…. it’s from V.”

 

Silence reigns supreme. Steve and Bucky exchange a look, trying to sense the other’s emotions when they don’t know themselves. Eventually, Steve speaks up. 

 

“Pepper, did you… open the letter?” He says hesitantly. 

 

“No, no, no!” She exclaims. “I didn’t read a thing. But there’s a standing mailroom policy to open suspicious packages and letters, so it… did get opened. That’s how we know who it’s from.”

 

Bucky huffs in frustration at her delicate handling of the news. “That’s great and all, Pepper, but we’re like a three day drive at the very least from New York. We just want to know what it says… if we should head back there.”

 

“Oh!” She exclaims, understanding better. “JARVIS, please email Steve and Bucky the letter right now.” 

 

Steve nods in thanks, then realizes that Pepper can’t hear him. “Thanks, Pepper. I think we need a bit of privacy to read this. I’ll call you back in a few.”

 

“Oh!” Pepper exclaims. “Take your time. Let me know whatever you need, whenever you need it.”

 

Steve is thankful for Pepper’s amazing skills, but he’s impatient to hang up and pull that letter up on his phone ASAP. “Thanks, Pepper. We’ll talk soon.” He hangs up, knowing that he’s being just a bit rude, but also knowing that she’ll forgive him. 

 

Steve finally looks over to Bucky. His face is serious, eyes big and wide and worried, and Steve sees a bit more of the Winter Soldier. It breaks his heart. He pulls Bucky down to the bed, wraps an arm around his waist, presses a kiss to his temple. Then he pulls out his phone. “Are you ready for this?”


End file.
